Guilty
by sephiesport
Summary: While Katniss is fighting for her life during the 75th Hunger Games, Gale's got his own problems to deal with. Namely planning a rebellion, avoiding the psycho who wants him dead, and survivng a bombing. You know, no big deal. Gale's POV of Catching Fire
1. Chapter 1

Gale Hawthorne

A leather bag with food and a flask of hot tea. A pair of fur-lined gloves that someone rich (Peeta himself?) must have owned. Three twigs, broken off of one of the naked trees, pointing in an arrow on the snow covered ground to show me which direction to go. This is what I find from Katniss at our usual meeting place on the third Sunday of the Harvest Festival.

I look at the bag with the slightest hint of anger and plenty of distaste. Why is she offering me these? She's chosen Peeta, it's clear, I get it, does she really think that this bag of treats will make me feel any better? This tiny bag of trinkets really isn't really going to console me about anything that's happened between us.

For a moment, I simply eye Katniss's bag, wondering if I should just ignore her sign and go home. Whatever she has to say to me won't make me happy, not now that she is engaged to Peeta. If I ignore her, though, she'll ask why I didn't come. I could say I hadn't seen the sign, but that's such an obvious lie it isn't even worth considering. As if I could miss noticing something as clearly out of place as this sign. I'm a hunter. It's my job to notice details.

Finally I bend down, pick up the bag, but resolve not to eat or drink any of the items in here until I find Katniss and figure out what exactly is going on between us. I don't need any of her gifts, and I sure don't want them. The only reason I'm going to find her is so I can know if there's any chance of- well, of us- or not.

I still can't get myself to believe it. Katniss Everdeen, soon to become Mrs. Peeta Mellark. I recoil at the thought, but I can't help but wonder exactly how much of Katniss was acting in the arena, on the Victory Tour, even now. Some part of me can't help but think that if it weren't for these blasted Games, in a few years it might have been "Katniss Hawthorne." In fact, I'm almost certain it would have been. For me, it's just another reason to hate the Capitol. They stole my father, my life, and my love. They cannot have any more of me.

Katniss might insist she would never have married anyone, but now that she's accepted _his_ proposal, I can't help but wonder how exactly she justified that in her mind. Who has she been lying to? Me, or the rest of Panem? I've known her so long, that it seems far more likely for her to be lying to the entire country, but it's one thing to pretend to be in love with someone, and quite a different thing entirely to accept that someone's marriage proposal.

I'm walking on a surprisingly unfamiliar trail in a part of the woods I have never had reason to be in before. It's clear that Katniss knows exactly where she's going and I wonder briefly where she is leading me. It's a long hike, and I know I should be hunting along the way so at least I'll have accomplished something productive, because all I can think about is how much of a disaster this conversation is going to turn out to be.

I just can't decide who I'm mad at. Partly at Katniss, yes. I wish she would just be straight with me, because ever since I kissed her that day in the woods, she's been ignoring me. I don't know if it's because she doesn't return my feelings for her or if it's because she _can't_, but today I'm determined to find out. I think it honestly must have caught her off guard, which is ridiculous because I've been in love with her for years now. Everyone knows it… except for, I guess, her. For someone with such amazing sight, she's remarkably blind when it comes to how I feel about her.

I'm angry at Peeta, of course, which I guess isn't fair of me but I really couldn't care less. It's natural that I hate him, since if he had never entered the picture Katniss and I might be hunting together as usual today with no need to even have this discussion. This strange, blonde baker's boy has become my greatest enemy and yet, I feel like I owe him. Because if it weren't for him, I don't know that Katniss would have made it home alive. So I'm grateful to him for protecting her, but I hate how he's made it so she has no choice but to return his love. Ever since he claimed that he was madly in love with her in that interview at the start of last year's Games, he's made it so he is her only option. After all, to the rest of the country I'm not even in the picture. I'm only her "cousin."

Regardless of how I feel towards him personally, I know I can't blame him entirely for this. My anger is directed at someone else. I know who I'm furious at, who I hate beyond reason, and it is not him.

It's the Capitol. The President. The Gamemakers. The citizens of the Capitol, who find teenagers being murdered every year to actually be an enjoyable bit of entertainment. The citizens of the Districts, who sit by as their _own children_ are forced to battle to the death on television, forced to watch as the kids are either forced to grow up fast and learn to kill or to die themselves. I'm angry at everyone who still does nothing when the opportunity is _right there_.

And if I'm being completely honest, I'm angry at myself. I wish I could protect these kids- every year, as I watch the Games, I can only sit there and grit my teeth, wishing there was something I could do to save them. What will happen when Rory or Vick get picked out of the reaping ball? I'm too old to step up and take their place like Katniss did, no matter how much I want to, and I know that no one else is going to volunteer to take their place. But wishing isn't enough. It will never be enough. What we need is a full scale revolution, but I know that will never happen, not with communication between the Districts as restricted as it is. It would have to be all of us or none of us, and none of us is far more likely.

It's with the Capitol in mind that I whip out an arrow and shoot one of the wild turkeys that always runs through these woods. Cray, the Head Peacekeeper, loves them, and maybe I can sell this one to him for a good price. Yes, hunting is illegal, it's technically considered poaching, but I need the money and the food for my family in order to survive. There are only two options for me: die of starvation or break the law, and I know which one I'd rather do.

I stop, clean the arrow, and hang the dead bird from my belt. This should probably be enough. When I give the bird to Cray I'm convinced I'll get a good price for this turkey. I continue walking.

I've been hiking for a few hours now, annoyed that such valuable hunting time is being wasted simply to have a conversation with Katniss, but I have made up my mind that I will follow this path to the end. Wherever Katniss is, that's where I'll be.

I only wish it could be like that in real life. Always.

I love her. I can be honest enough with myself to admit as much. I've always loved her, from the moment I met her in the woods, and now I'm almost certain that she doesn't return the feeling. If she loves anyone, it would be Peeta, and a small part of me can't really blame her for her preference. He was the one by her side during the Games, not me. I haven't done much of anything for Katniss recently, not really. I'm just… well, useless.

Soon, the trail opens up into a large clearing, with a lake and what might be the remnants of houses on all sides. Only one house still stands, old and concrete, and I make my way over to the small house, knowing that's where she'll be. I can smell the smoke coming from the fireplace.

I walk over quietly, the snow crunching a little beneath my feet, and stand there in the doorway, unsure of whether I want to go inside or not. Finally I decide it won't matter either way- she'll still be engaged to Peeta, and I'll still be miserable. But for some reason I just can't get my feet to move any closer to her.

Katniss is sitting next to the fireplace on the hearth, warming her hands next to the little fire she has going. Her hair is in its usual braid, slung over one shoulder, and I can't help but notice how beautiful she is. I force myself to forget it. She and Peeta are together. Not me. Peeta.

Her grey eyes meet mine, and I can read her emotions perfectly. What I find surprises me.

She's hurting, too. I don't know if it's simply pain at my pain, or if it's pain because she honestly cares, but it's evident she's upset, and I don't know how I can fix it. Finally, Katniss speaks, her tone tired and hoarse.

"President Snow personally threatened to have you killed," she announces flatly, her tone lifeless.

I'm honestly not really surprised by this, and I'm definitely not scared. President Snow would be happy if I died?

Good. I'd prefer _him_ dead, too. No love lost there.

"Anyone else?" I ask, but I'm preoccupied. I didn't come here to talk about the danger she thinks I'm in, but I know I need to listen to whatever she has to say.

"Well, he didn't actually give me a copy of the list, but it's a good guess it includes both of our families."

Huh. What's she done now? I finally decide it would be a good idea to come inside, and I go and join her next to the fire.

"Unless what?" I prompt. With the government, there's always an "unless." My voice is still almost absurdly upbeat, making light of the entire situation.

Katniss sighs, her eyes staring far into the distance at something I can't see. "Unless nothing, now." Her whole posture speaks to me. I've seen her like this before, when a trap doesn't set right or a prey escapes from one of her snares. It is her expression that means she thinks she's failed at something, that she'll never succeed.

Obviously I wonder what it is she thinks she's failed at, but I wait about a minute for her to explain what she means. I don't prompt her. When she says nothing by way of explanation, I roll my eyes a little.

"Well. Thanks for the heads-up." My tone is dripping with sarcasm, and for some reason I suddenly find this entire situation to be almost incredibly funny.

Katniss's head snaps up in anger, but she takes a look at me and begins to smile too, without having an explanation. The corners of her mouth are just turning upwards when she pulls them back down.

"I do have a plan, you know."

I know what she means- she thinks she can do something to save my life. She gets like that a lot. Where she thinks she can do anything she feels like, whenever she feels likes doing it. It's really endearing, usually, but right now it's just ridiculous.

"Yeah, I bet it's a stunner." I say. As if any plan of hers could save my life or my family if the President gets it into his mind that we'd be better off dead. I look at my hands and see the bag, Peeta's red gloves on top of the pile of things in there. I barely know what I'm thinking as I say, "Here. I don't want your fiancé's old gloves."

"He's not my fiancé," she explains, sounding part annoyed, part weary. "That's just part of the act. And these aren't his gloves, they were Cinna's."

Her stylist's gloves? Those I can accept.

"Give them back, then," I say. She hands them to me and our hands meet for the slightest moment. I'm tempted to kiss her again, but something inside me tells me that would be a really bad idea. Possibly the worst I've ever had. Instead, I simply slide on the gloves. They feel wonderful. Warm but flexible, and they fit perfectly.

"At least I'll be able to die in comfort," I say, not entirely sure that I'm kidding.

Katniss sighs again.

"That's optimistic. Of course, you don't know what's happened."

_So tell me._ I think. I say, "Let's have it."

And she gives it to me, the entire story that I've been waiting to hear.

She talks for a long time, and I finally get to know the truth. Haymitch says the Capitol thinks Katniss is rebelling against them? I can't believe that, even for one second. I _know_ Katniss. The trick with the berries in the arena wasn't an act of rebellion _or_ an act of love. She was just trying to save her and Peeta's lives, and that's honestly it. Because Katniss- the Katniss I've known for years now- wouldn't have rebelled like that on purpose, not in a million years. It's not that she doesn't despise the Capitol, because she does, it's just that she thinks about consequences, and she would have known the consequences of any form of rebellion would be severe.

As she tells me President Snow came to her house _personally_, telling her to act more in love with Peeta or he'd kill me, I take off the gloves and put them back into my pocket, feeling almost sickened by what I'm hearing. The President wouldn't have come all the way out to District Twelve unless he was very serious, in which case, Katniss is in a lot of trouble.

The President knows I kissed her. He thinks he can use me as blackmail against her. Well, he can't. Not for long, anyway. I want to get out of here, leave the Districts behind for good. It's a thought that has plagued me for years, but I don't know if Katniss would ever agree to it, and there is no way I could leave her behind. Especially not know that she's confirming all of my fears about her and the government and dying.

She keeps talking, saying that there's been tension in the districts, and when she says that three people were killed in District Eleven because of her, my face turns stony. It's whenever I hear about acts of violence like this that I start thinking about uprisings, and what exactly it would take to start a new revolution.

My mind is already racing, thinking about the people in the mines who might rebel with me. If we had an uprising we'd have to-

I suddenly realize I'm hardly listening to Katniss anymore, and I force myself to take a deep breath.

To control myself, I pull out the food from the leather bag and start to cook us a meal, toasting the food over the fire.

I'm cooking some cheese as she explains that the engagement was just a desperate attempt, a shot in the dark. She had hoped she could save me by it. I'm tempted to point out that to Peeta, that's probably not at all what it was, but I remain silent and think about this.

I'm a little amazed by it, frankly. What does President Snow think their little act will accomplish? Their love story will never be enough to defuse rebellion, if rebellion's what the Districts want. If a spark has seriously been started, Peeta and Katniss won't have any effect on it at all. It would be like trying to hide a fire by turning out the lights- all it'll do is make the tension more noticeable.

Katniss has been staring at my bare hands as she speaks, and I look down at them, a little self-consciously. I know they're not much to look at. Scarred, calloused, tough, my hands are the result of years of hard manual labor. And as she stares, I can't help but wonder what's so fascinating about them.

Finally, she ends her little confession spiel by telling me about her homecoming from the Victory Tour, and I try to think of a good way to reply.

"Well, you really made a mess of things," is all I can think of to say.

Katniss lets out a little moan. "I'm not even done."

"I've heard enough for the moment," I say. "Let's skip ahead to this plan of yours." I'm curious as to what she thinks she could possibly do to make this disaster any better.

She takes a deep breath, and then her grey eyes find mine. "We run away."

"What?" I can't believe what I'm hearing. The breath is literally knocked from me. It was the last thing I expected, because the last time I mentioned we do this, she made it clear the answer was an emphatic "No."

"We take to the woods and make a run for it." She explains, her voice hopeful and excited. I'm looking at her closely, trying to judge if she's serious. She stands up now, clearly annoyed and adds, "You said yourself you thought that we could do it! That morning of the reaping. You said-"

She doesn't need to remind me of what I said. If she really wants to, I'll go.

I'm overcome with such a sense of joy and relief that I put my hands on her waist, pick her up, and spin her around. I'm laughing, not able to control my almost dizzying amount of euphoria.

"Hey!" she exclaims, but I can tell she's happy at my reaction.

I finally put Katniss down, but my hands are still on her waist, holding her close to me. "Okay, let's run away."

At first she looks astounded, but then I see her relief. "Really? You don't think I'm mad? You'll go with me?"

"I _do_ think you're mad and I'll _still_ go with you," I tell her honestly. "We can do it. I know we can. Let's get out of here and never come back."

She stops looking so happy for a small moment. "You sure?" she asks. "Because it's going to be hard, with the kids and all. I don't want to get five miles into the woods and have you-"

"I'm sure." I interrupt. "I'm completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure."

I tilt my head down so my forehead meets Katniss's, and without knowing why, I pull her closer. We just stand there for a moment, next to the fire, the heat from the flames feeling incredibly good. She doesn't pull away. The fact that she looks so comfortable next to me makes me smile, and I whisper softly, "I love you."

This is the moment of truth. As soon as it is out of my mouth, I wish I could take it back, but I can't. I mean, it's true, I do love her, I'm just very worried about how Katniss will respond. There is a moment of silence and then she says in a strained voice, "I know."

It's the worst possible answer she could have given me. The joy I'd been feeling just moments ago vanishes, and as it does, I begin to move away from her. If that's how she feels, then-

Her hands grab my wrists, pulling me back to her. "I know! And you… you know what you are to me." she adds weakly.

It's not enough. Not for me. I break her grip on my hands effortlessly and step away.

"Gale, I can't think about anyone that way now." I can hear the pleading in her voice. Katniss wishes I could understand but I know I won't be able to. She continues. "All I can think about since they drew Prim's name at the reaping, is how afraid I am. And there doesn't seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe… maybe I could be different. I don't know."

I cling to the small shred of hope that I still have. "So, we'll go. We'll find out." I say tonelessly, turning back to the fire. "But my mother's going to take some convincing."

"Mine, too." She frowns, not looking so happy either. "I'll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won't survive the alternative."

"She'll understand," I say now, sure she will. "I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won't say no to you."

I remember watching the Games. It was torture for me, having to sit and watch and do nothing while my best friend was almost killed in numerous ways. Just because it was a mandatory viewing doesn't mean I had to enjoy myself as I watched. But the worst parts for me were the moments when Katniss kissed Peeta, and her mother would look at me, the pity in her eyes blaringly obvious. I didn't need pity. I only needed Katniss to stay alive.

"I hope not." she replies, a chill in her voice. "Haymitch will be the real challenge."

"Haymitch?" I am honestly astonished. "You're asking _him_ to come with us?"

"I have to, Gale. I can't leave him and Peeta because they'd-"

I'm scowling at her. Of _course_ Peeta is coming, too. I thought Katniss had meant it would be just her family and mine running away, but obviously she had other plans.

"What?" she demands. I can't stop myself from replying angrily.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize how large our party was," I snap.

Katniss looks shocked at my outburst. "They'd torture them to find out where I was!" she exclaims.

I want to yell, "So let him die!" but instead I try to look at things slightly more logically. "What about Peeta's family? They'll never come. In fact, they probably couldn't wait to inform on us. Which I'm sure he's smart enough to realize. What if he decides to stay?"

Her expression wavers for a moment. "Then… he stays." Her voice cracks and the worry in her voice hurts. How can she care so much for him?

"You'd leave him behind?" I ask, trying to clarify. Maybe she'll say yes, but I know the answer is no. There's no way she would leave him.

"To save Prim and my mother, yes," she replies. "I mean, no! I'll get him to come!"

_Good luck with that,_ I think.

"And me, would you leave me?" I demand solidly. "Just if, for instance, I can't convince my mother to drag three young kids into the wilderness in winter."

She doesn't know how to respond. "Hazelle won't refuse. She'll see sense."

"Suppose she doesn't. What then?" I need to know.

"Then you have to force her, Gale!" Her tone is rising and she looks angry. "Do you think I'm making this stuff up?" She might even be furious at me.

"No." I say, then change my mind. "I don't know. Maybe the president's just manipulating you. I mean, he's throwing you your wedding." I almost stutter over the word. "You saw how the Capitol crowd reacted! I don't think he can afford to kill you. Or Peeta." _But he might kill me. I'm expendable. _"How's he going to get out of that one?"

Katniss snaps. "Well, with the uprising in District Eight, I doubt he's spending much time choosing my wedding cake!" she yells.

It takes a moment for this to sink in, and when it does, I can't conceal my surprise or my excitement. I take a deep breath in. "There's been an uprising in Eight?" I ask, hushed.

Katniss tries to back her way out of this. "I don't know if it's really an uprising. There's unrest. People in the streets-"

I grab her shoulders and force her to face me. "What did you see?"

"Nothing! In person. I just heard something." I _need_ to know what she knows. If there's an uprising in Eight… there could be one anywhere. Even District Twelve. "I saw something on the mayor's television. I wasn't supposed to. There was a crowd, and fires, and Peacekeepers were gunning people down but they were fighting back…" She bites her lip and I just look at her, waiting for her to continue, trying not to let my hopes get too high. "And it's my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I'd just killed myself with those berries, none of this would have happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe, too."

_But I would never be happy,_ I think.

"Safe to do what?" I ask, trying to sound reassuring. "Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven't hurt people- you've given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. There's already talk in the mines. People who want to fight." It's true. Bristel and Thom from my crew, for starters. "Don't you see? It's happening! It's finally happening! If there's an uprising in District Eight, why not here? Why not everywhere? This could be it, the thing we've been-"

"Stop it!" She interrupts. "You don't know what you're saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they're not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people- they mean less than nothing to them!"

Why doesn't she see it?

"That's why we have to join the fight!" I reply sharply. It's so obvious to me, why can't she see this is a great chance, an opportunity to finally fix things? To get rid of the Capitol and stop the Games for _good_!

"No! We have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!" Katniss is yelling at me, but I don't care. I shove her away. _The Capitol is already killing hundreds of people. _I think. _They've threatened to kill me personally. If I'm going to die anyway, it might as well be for a cause._

"You leave then," I say darkly. "I'd never go in a million years."

"You were happy enough to go before!" Katniss sounds exasperated. "I don't see how an uprising in District Eight does anything but make it more important that we leave. You're just mad about-" She breaks off and I can tell from her expression she was about to mention Peeta. My expression twists for a moment at the thought of him, but Katniss quickly asks, "What about your family?"

"What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can't run away? Don't you see? It can't be just about _us_ anymore. Not if the rebellion's begun!" I shake my head in disgust, wondering how she can really be so blind to all the possibilities. "You could do so much."

My gaze falls on the gloves at my belt and I throw them to the ground at Katniss's feet. "I changed my mind. I don't want anything they made in the Capitol."

And I walk out of the house, back to the path, leaving a very shocked Katniss behind me.

This last comment _was_ a dig at her, and I guess I should feel sorry for saying it, but I don't. I just can't understand how she doesn't see this as the miracle it is. An open act of rebellion that could very well turn into a revolution, and if there's a revolution, I know where I need to be. Here, In District Twelve.

The thing about rebellions is that you have to have someone who's brave enough to start one, to whisper treasonous comments in people's ears, to pass on revolutionary notions, to go against everything they're told to believe. The people in the mines have already begun this, but the problem is that many of them are afraid of the consequences, just like Katniss. That's what makes me different. I know the consequences, but I've never been worried about them, and in a situation like this one, the outcome can be nothing but good. We already have the Hunger Games. What else can the Capitol do to us?

I'm well-liked in the mines, even respected, and I know that if District Twelve ever does decide to rebel, I'll need to be up at the front lines of attack, telling people that this is what we need to be doing.

And _that's _the real reason I could never leave, not now that I have hope. Because I need to be ready at any moment for a warning, for a sign that the people who agree with the rebellion are ready to make their stand.

After the long hike back, I leave my bow and arrows in the woods and crawl back through the hole in the fence into the Meadow. The electricity is off, as always, and I have my turkey with me, so I decide the first place I'm going to stop is Cray's house, to sell him the bird.

I walk down the streets of the Hob, nodding hello to some of the other black-market dealers, but I'm in no mood for casual conversation. I just want to get rid of the stupid bird and get my money and go home.

Cray's house is as it always is, large and stunning, and as usual part of me is disgusted by it. He hardly does his job, he works for the Capitol, and he's one of the Capitol creeps who mess with the local girls. Actually, there are a few there now, along with other people who are milling about in the streets.

I go around to the back of the house, ring the doorbell and wait for Cray to open it, ready to haggle over the price. He usually pays pretty well.

I'm thinking about my argument with Katniss and wishing that she would see sense when the door opens.

It's not Cray standing there. Instead is a new man in the Peacekeeper's uniform, his hair short and grey, his hard face long and angled, and the contempt for me obvious in his black eyes. I can't understand why he hates me so much. I don't even know him.

"Um. Is Cray home?" I manage to get out, wondering if this man is a guest.

He smirks at me a little.

"No, Cray is not at home, nor will he be in the near future. Don't get too comfortable waiting." His pitch black eyes land on the dead turkey in my hands and his expression hardens, his eyes narrowing.

"What's your name, boy?" he demands. Then I get it. He's not from District Twelve. This man is actually upset that I've been hunting.

"Gale Hawthorne," I reply, because I don't know what else to do. I know hunting's illegal, punishable by death, and I really don't feel like dying in the near future. My mind is whirring, trying to put a spin on the situation so there's at least a chance I'll make it out of here alive.

"You're under arrest for poaching on government land."

I can't believe it. No one gets arrested for hunting. I can't even think of a way to defend myself. Thread calls back into the house, calling for two more Peacekeepers who I suppose were in some sort of meeting.

"Take the turkey from him." he commands. They do so, grabbing it from my disbelieving hands with apologetic looks on their faces.

"Yes, Mr. Thread," one of them murmurs. Thread.

"What happened to Cray?" I hear someone on the street whisper. A crowd seems to have gathered, watching as the two Peacekeepers tie my hands behind my back with rope.

Thread looks thoughtful. "Now, tell me, Hawthorne, how exactly did you kill this bird?"

I think quickly, trying to decide what to say so I don't get shot.

"Well, sir," I say, making my voice waver (it's not that hard, I'm absolutely terrified), "It was wandering around the Seam, sir. Right there on the street in front of my house! I guess it must have gotten over the fence somehow and I figured it wasn't much use alive and, well, I stabbed it with a stick, sir. I'm really sorry, sir, I was just so hungry. I didn't think that counted as poaching."

Thread looks disapprovingly at me, and I'm tempted to stare right back, but this is not the time to be bold or proud. No, if I want to remain alive, I need to grovel for this man, and for some reason I can't get myself to do it.

Sometimes I really am such an idiot.

"Unfortunately for you, that's still a crime, and one punishable by death. It's too bad, though, really. I'll feel awful about killing you." he says sarcastically.

I can't help it. A sneer starts to form on my face and I try to wipe it off as soon as I realize it's there, but it's too late. Thread has seen how much I hate him, and now I really am going to be in some major trouble.

He checks that the knots on my wrists are good and tight (they are, I can barely feel the circulation in my hands) and then commands the two Peacekeepers to take me to the square, where I will be "tried" and punished by whatever it is he finds appropriate. My life is entirely in this strange man's hands.

I trudge to the town square, held between the two white-clad figures, wondering how on earth I got myself into this mess. The day had seemed so promising and now… well, I'd be lucky if I live even five minutes longer.

Thread stands next to me, and it's clear that all the people in the crowd are trying to figure out who I am and what I've done to get punished. He clears his throat, then says loudly, "Gale Hawthorne, you have been arrested for poaching, a crime that only results in death. How do you plead?"

At the sound of my name, the silent crowd erupts into whispers and conversations, and I can catch snippets of what they are saying.

"Gale? But he's always hunted."

"Who's the new Peacekeeper? Cray loved Hawthorne."

"They can't seriously be going to _kill_ him, can they?"

It is the last question that I wonder myself, and my stomach is rebelling at the thought that these might very well be my last minutes of life.

All I can do is pray that my mother and siblings aren't in the crowd. If I'm seriously about to die, I don't want them seeing it.

"Guilty," I mutter.

Thread acts like he can't hear me. "Excuse me?" he demands. He knows full well I'm guilty and he's just using this entire situation to make an example of me to the rest of the District. I get it. If he's the new Head Peacekeeper, my entire district is doomed. He repeats the question louder. "Gale Hawthorne, how do you plead?"

"Guilty." My answer rings in the silence of the square, and I can feel every eye is trained on me. My heart feels like it is about to leap out of its chest. I've always known I _could _die for my hunting, but I never dreamed I actually would.

"Well then." says Thread quietly, so only I and the people in the front row can hear. "We're going to have to punish you then, aren't we."

"I suppose so, _sir_." To anyone else my sentence would have sounded completely polite, but I know that Thread is going to take it as me mocking him. I suppose he could just shoot me now, but after this I don't think that's going to happen. In fact, looking into his inky eyes, I know I'm going to get something far worse than a shooting.

"You are punished to a public whipping, to be carried out immediately." He announces loudly. The crowd gasps quietly. We have an old whipping post, but it hasn't been used since before Cray. I suddenly know that this will not be a set number of whips, but only until Thread gets tired of my pain. This could very well be a death sentence itself, but a far more painful one than what I was expecting. One of the Peacekeepers, Darius, I think, is commanded to tie my wrists to the pole, my back towards the crowd.

But first, he and several others remove my jacket, sliding it off and dumping it to the ground. Then someone tears at my shirt and I am powerless as they remove it, standing there in the cold, shivering as the chill wind hits my bare chest.

"I'm so sorry, Gale," Darius whispers to me as he binds my hands to the whipping post. I nod, showing him that I don't blame him for it at all, but he still looks very uneasy as another Peacekeeper hands Thread the whip.

Thread raises it above him and cracks it experimentally in the air. I jump and so do hundreds of others in the crowd at the noise it makes, and all I can think is that this is going to hurt very, very badly.

But it's when Thread hangs my turkey onto the post with a nail in its neck as a sign of what I have done that I decide that I _am_ going to stage my own private rebellion. I'm not going to make a sound when he strikes me. After all, it may be a crime to hunt a turkey in the first place, but in my opinion- and just about everyone else's in District Twelve- it's a far worse crime to let a perfectly good dead turkey go to waste.

Thread looks at me, raises the whip (this time for real), and I grit my teeth in anticipation, my eyes on the ground. The only warning I have that it is about to hit me is the whistle through the air as it comes down, and then it collides with my bare skin.

The pain is awful and immediate, and I just barely hold my cry in. A small groan slips through my teeth, and I realize I had no idea how bad a whipping was. There's no way I will be able to keep up my vow of silence, especially not with the crowd the size it is, who are making the noises for me. They're gasping as they see my flesh, which I think may be bleeding already. Honestly I don't have any way to tell. All I can think about is how much I hate this man, how rebellion is the only answer. No one in the Capitol has to be punished for hunting- in fact, no one in the Capitol has reason to be hunting in the first place! They already have everything they need. And the fact that the Districts have to submit so fully to them- well that's the truly horrific part.

I decide I don't care how blinding the pain is, my sheer willpower will keep me from crying out.

It whistles again, cracks down on my skin, and I jerk, but since my arms are tied to the post I have no where I can go. In the silence between whips I can hear the crowd whispering, but I can't actually tell what any of them are saying.

Soon I have five down, who knows how many to go, and now I know for a fact my back is bleeding, because I can feel it dripping down my back and legs, and it is _not_ a pleasant sensation. I wonder if Katniss is here, watching, and I decide that I'd prefer it if she wasn't. I've already seen her suffer and bleed in the Games, she shouldn't have to watch this happen to me.

I don't know if Thread is enjoying himself or not, but it seems like it. Around the tenth stroke, it seems like he's hitting harder now, and all I know is that I am no longer thinking straight, because when I look down, I become fascinated with the color of my blood.

I never knew blood could be so pretty. Of course, I'm now feeling disoriented, weak, dizzy, and maybe my blood isn't that exciting to anyone else, but I know for a fact that the color of the snow beneath me is the exact same shade as Posy's favorite color, a medium tone of pink. It startles me when I realize that all the blood is mine, and that it belongs inside me. I didn't think anyone could lose this much blood and live.

The next strike, I know I can't hold it in any longer.

When Thread hits me this time, I cry out. Not loudly, but loud enough that he can hear it. I want to curse myself for letting him get the better of me, but I can no longer think straight. All there is is the pain. I'm counting the strokes by the sounds I hear, because I can hardly keep my eyes open.

Whistle, crack, a cry, a gasp. Thread, the whip, me, the crowd. Over and over and over again. And now I _am _crying out, shouting as he cracks his whip onto my back.

Around the eighteenth stroke, my legs give out from under me, and the only thing keeping me up is my wrists. Still the pain keeps coming, and now I think I might be crying, but I'm not sure. I know that around the twentieth stroke, someone says furiously, "That's enough," and I think for a second that my punishment is actually over, and that I may be allowed to live. But now, there's a hollow thud, a gasp from the crowd, and someone is lying on the ground, unconscious. It's only a small pause, and then Thread's merciless beating continues. I can't even allow myself to think about who's unconscious next to me. I'm just focused on staying alive.

Around the twenty-fifth stroke, I am starting to wonder that maybe death is better than this, that I would prefer the serenity and quiet of whatever comes after to what is happening to me now, and I know I'm losing my grip on reality. I don't know how much longer I can survive this, and all I can think is that even if death isn't approaching, unconsciousness certainly is.

At the thirty-second stroke, I know I can't hold out any longer. I know I'll soon be dead, and in a strange sort of way, I welcome it. At least my family didn't get in trouble. At least the president has one less person to use as blackmail against Katniss. And at least Katniss will never have to worry about if she loves me or Peeta, because he'll be the only option left.

The blackness rolls over me like a wave, and I sink into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

_N/A: Okay, so I actually decided to try to write another chapter, thanks to all the reviews I got. As you may (or may not!) know, I started my rewrite on chapter seven of Catching Fire. The logical thing to do next would be for me to rewrite chapter eight, right? Well, I didn't realize right away that in chapter eight… Gale's unconscious the entire time! He doesn't do any talking except on the last page, and it would make the most amount of sense for him to _remain_ unconscious for the duration of the chapter, which would make writing this chapter very, very difficult. After all, there's only so much thinking a person can do while they're unconscious, since the whole point of _being_ unconscious is so their brain and body can sort of recharge. I couldn't get myself to skip chapter eight, because it seemed important to _me, _anyway, and this is the result. Dreams. Nightmares. That sort of thing. It didn't really come out the way I intended it to, but, I'm pleased. : ) Enjoy! …Or, don't. But either way, please read and let me know what you think!_

I float in and out of consciousness for a long, long time.

Even when I'm awake, I'm not _awake._ My mind can't focus on a single thing, and I find my thoughts flitting around in my head like mockingjays hopping from tree to tree.

I'm in more pain than I've ever been in- _in my life_- and that's saying something. I remember one time when I set one of my more complicated snares wrong, and I ended up getting caught in it myself. I was lifted up nearly twenty feet in the air by my right arm, and I couldn't get free. My arm was literally pulled out of its socket, and when I finally worked my way out of it, almost an hour later, I fell the entire way to the ground and cracked my ankle, fracturing the bone and bruising my ribs. I couldn't move. I sat there on the forest floor for almost two hours, too scared and weak to even scream for help. Just as it was about to get dark, my father found me and had to carry me all the way home. It's hard to believe that until today, I would have said that was my most painful memory.

I had no idea what the word "pain" meant.

I feel a pressure on my back, and I can't help but groan out loud. What's happening to me? Am I getting whipped again?

I feel certain the answer to that question is no, because this isn't the same sort of pain. The original pain was intense, stabbing, _blinding._ _That_ pain wracked my entire body, left me bloody, raw, weak. This feels like something different entirely. Like something- a poultice, maybe- is being applied to the raw skin on my back. Like… someone's trying to fix me?

I instantly decide there's no way I'm getting healed. This hurts too badly. If this is healing, I make up my mind that I'd rather die.

I hear voices, but I can't quite make out what they're saying. The words buzz around me, and I think I hear _his_ voice, the voice I've trained myself to hate.

Peeta.

He sounds concerned, and a little weary. Like he's tired, or maybe even like he's in pain. I wish I could hear what he was saying. I can't think of any reason he should sound this upset. He has everything- _everything- _and he doesn't realize it.

Yes, he was in the Games, and sure, he lost a leg. But think of what he's gained. He has Katniss's love now, which from what I've heard, he's been trying to get since he first met her. She trusts him completely, which previously only I could have said. And… he's engaged to her, which is a fantasy I know I can only live in my mind.

And I gladly do.

Reality fades away, and I find myself lost in a fantasy land that's as familiar to me as the woods outside of the fence.

In my dream, it's a different world. The Capitol has no control over my District, there are no Games anymore (the 2nd rebellion got rid of those _ages_ ago), and no one has to worry about going hungry. Katniss never had to fight in the arena. Peeta isn't even in the picture. There's always enough. Hunting is legal.

Yeah, I know, it sounds too good to be true. Just wait. It gets better.

Katniss and I are walking down the streets of town, hand in hand. We're both wearing lavish jackets, that are actually warm enough to keep the chill out. I find myself looking at her. She's smiling, laughing even, outside of the woods, out here where everyone can see her. Where everyone can see the real Katniss, the one _I_ know.

"I love you, you know," I say suddenly. A smile breaks out across her face.

"I love you, too." It feels natural coming from her. Of course it's natural. She says it often. She leans over and kisses me briefly. I kiss her back.

We walk into the bakery together, laughing over some little joke. The man at the counter looks up as the bell rings to let him know we've entered.

"Hello, Gale," he greets politely, a cordial smile on his lips. He nods at Katniss. "Mrs. Hawthorne."

Both Katniss and I smile at this. It sounds so nice, and although the title is anything but recent, I'm still filled with an insane joy.

I nod at the baker. "How's business going today?"

"Oh, business as usual. You know how it gets." He gives a little shrug, the smile still not leaving his face. "Thanks for asking, though. How can I help you two today?"

"We're looking for a cake," I say.

The baker whistles. "What's the special occasion?"

Katniss and I exchange a conspiratorial smile, and she speaks up. "I'm going to have a baby." The joy in her face is better than anything I have ever seen. It's a miracle.

The baker's face breaks into a grin. "Wow. That's really- wow! Congratulations!" He nods his approval. "A cake is _definitely_ in order. I'll make sure it's one of the best."

Katniss and I choose our cake, filling in the order form. The entire time the baker is entirely helpful, and Katniss and I can hardly believe our good luck. He's even giving us a discount, just because of the occasion.

We walk out of the store with much more than we hoped we would get. As we are leaving, Katniss loops her arm through mine and says thoughtfully, "Mr. Mellark really is a thoughtful person," she says. "He's always so kind."

I nod. "He really is," I agree. "He's a great one, that Peeta."

I don't even get a chance to try and figure out what my subconscious is trying to tell me. I'm not sure I really want to know, either. It's never going to happen. What's the point in even imagining it?

I am pulled from this stupid, impossible dream by the sound I hear in my nightmares every night.

Oh, yes, I get them too. Probably as frequently as Katniss does. Her nightmares are _my_ nightmares now. Every night, I hear her. See her. Always, she's in pain. Hurt. Bleeding. Half-dead. Or, worse. Sometimes, she's with Peeta, in that awful cave. Sure, she may have lived the Games, but I watched them. I couldn't influence them at all. And that, to me, is far more frightening.

Screams. Katniss is screaming. I struggle to claw my way to consciousness, but I can't seem to wake up. What's going on? Why is she yelling?

I can just barely make out the words she's saying, and they're mean, hateful, and vile. I've never heard Katniss sound like this, not ever. I've never even heard her use this tone of voice.

I hear my name mentioned angrily, and I can't tell if she's mad _at_ me or because of me. I pray it's the second one, because I never want to hear her tell me she hates me as much as she seems to hate whoever she's screaming at.

"Just give him the medicine Give it to him! Who are you, anyway, to decide how much pain he can stand!" I can hear her now clearly, her voice rings through my mind. Oh, no. She's talking about me. I don't know who to, yet, but it's clear Katniss doesn't have a handle on the situation.

I have a strange sense of thankfulness come over me. More medicine. If it stops this awful pain… I don't care how Katniss gets it for me. Medicine would be a miracle.

Although, now the tone of her voice is worrying me. She sounds almost as distraught as she did the time she thought Peeta died.

Oh, no. Am I going to die? Maybe I'm assuming too much when I hope that she would care enough for me to give my death the same reaction as _his_, but I would hope that she'd be at least a little upset.

Her words from the lake house echo in my mind. "And you- you know what you are to me."

_No, Katniss, I don't. I thought I did, but… not anymore._

Why is it so hard for her to just say it? A clear "no" would be better than the sea of ambiguity that she has left me in. I just need to hear her tell me how she feels. I have no idea what I am to her. But I _do_ know exactly what she is to me.

My best friend. My life. My love.

If only she felt the same.

Her screams go faint, but I can't tell if that's because I'm fading out or because she was forcibly removed. Knowing Katniss, I'd say the latter is pretty likely.

I feel something touching my back and I start to groan and squirm in pain. I can't keep my level of discomfort hidden, and I am left with a lingering sense of embarrassment.

I hate being so weak. I _hate _it. In that sense, Katniss and I are very much alike. We're too proud for our own good, but I don't see how either one of us can change that. It's just the way we are.

Something sharp jabs into my arm and I fade into the darkness once more.

I hope this isn't becoming a habit.

Memories, fantasies, and realities are all becoming jumbled up in my head. One moment I'm reminiscing on the Games, and the next moment I'm imagining that it was _me_ in there with Katniss. Like it should have been.

I don't know what I was thinking, really I don't. Just like Katniss volunteered for Prim, I should have volunteered to take Peeta's place last year. I should have gone in there so I could protect Katniss. Katniss and I, _we_ could have been the _real_ 'star-crossed lovers from District 12.' There wouldn't have been any acting. Both of us could have made it home. There wouldn't _be_ any issues with Peeta, and most importantly, I wouldn't be feeling so guilty all the time.

I know it's stupid for me to feel that way, but ever since Katniss volunteered for the Games and I let her go without even trying to help her- yeah, I gave her some advice but _anyone_ could have told her to go 'find a bow'- I can't forgive myself. She could have died in there, and it would have been all my fault.

Part of me knows that feeling like this is ridiculous. I have too many priorities here in District 12, and my family is at the top of the list. They're the reason I could never run away. They're the reason I could never volunteer. They're the reason I need to _stay alive._

I start to shiver and sweat at the same time, and for some reason that doesn't really strike me as 'healthy.' I hope that whoever is taking care of me is doing a good job, because if I get a fever, if anything at _all_ goes wrong, I could end up dead before I even know what's happening to me.

There can hardly be any skin left on my back. I don't know how many strokes I actually received, but I know that from now on, for the rest of my life, I will have huge, vicious scars decorating my skin.

But the phrase "for the rest of my life" doesn't seem to carry much weight anymore. If I even get a slight infection, I could very easily die.

The thought is enough to frighten me, but not for the reason most people would think. I'm not worried for myself, not in the slightest. I have never understood the reasoning in wondering what happens after a person dies. What's the point? I'll find out eventually.

No, the reason I'm worried is that if I die, I can't even begin to imagine what my family would do without me. Working in the mines provides the main income for our family now, although the laundry that my mother washes brings in a good deal too. And my hunting has always helped us along. Between those three main jobs and side errands that Rory, Vick and even Posy run, we have always been able to make ends meet. The problem with me dying, is that the 'ends' might fall short. My family might starve.

And I can _never_ let that happen.

I can't even let any of my siblings take out tessarae. I do it instead, and now that I'm too old for the Reaping, I have to stay alive so none of them _need_ the tessarae. That's why I have always had so many drawings in the reaping bowl. I _know_ I can take care of myself. I'm just not so sure about my siblings.

Thinking about them now, I know that making sure they are entered in the Reaping as few times as possible is the right thing to do, even if it won't necessarily keep them safe. After all, Prim was only entered once, and _she_ got drawn.

_That was different,_ I think. _That was just bad luck._ But part of me can't help wondering what will happen if 'bad luck' happens to my family.

My mind goes fuzzy and I sink into a nightmare. It's Thread, and he's whipping me again. The only difference is, this time, my entire family has front row seats to the event. My mother has Posy in her arms, and she's trying to keep Rory and Vick from watching. I'm trying to keep my screams inside. My siblings already have enough fuel for nightmares. They don't need to see this.

But Thread yells at some Peacekeepers and tells them to make my family watch. He says awful things. That this is what I get for hunting, for rebelling, for being born into a country where the government doesn't care. That it's _my_ fault. I should have let my family die. When my punishment is finally finished, I am cut down, and I can only lie on the ground.

Thread comes over to me, his foot next to my face. He looks down on me with a sardonic grin. "Well, now we've ruined your body. Next we need to ruin your face." I'm too confused to respond to this, but Thread makes everything clear. He bends down and whispers in my ear. "We've got to make it so no one can ever love you. You know Katniss never will." These words shouldn't be coming from his mouth, but it's a dream and he speaks my fears.

He lifts his foot into the air and brings it smashing down onto my face. I can hear my nose crack. I barely feel it. It's just more pain added to what I already feel. In fact, it's a little refreshing. At least it's in a different place.

"Leave him alone!" It's Rory's voice, I think, and it's too late for me to tell him not to say anything.

"Well, well, well, what have we got here? Little Turkey Boy's brother is a fighter, too?" Thread comes over to my little brother without even the slightest bit of emotion. "We'll have to change that, now won't we?"

He then sentences Rory- _thirteen year old Rory-_ to the same punishment I've just received. I barely lived. We all know my brother would die.

I want to scream at Thread, to grab the whip from his hands and turn it around on him. I want to make Thread feel this same pain.

The hate I feel for him is more than anything I have ever felt for another person, and it scares me. My father always taught me not to hate people, but to hate _ideas._ But suddenly I'm finding this philosophy impossible to follow through on. I wish this man was dead.

Some Peacekeepers grab my brother and tie his arms behind his back, forcing him onto his knees.

"Rory!" my mother cries. "Please, I'll do anything-" she's begging him now, and even I join in. I'll take more strokes. I'll die for him. I'll do _anything, _anything at all if Thread will just leave my family alone.

He smiles at me, but there's no joy in the expression. Just mocking. He raises the whip and brings it down on my little brother with even more force than he used on me. Already my brother is bleeding, yelling, and I have Posy in _my_ arms, trying to calm her even though I'm not calm myself.

Vick is crying, and by the fifth stroke, he's shaking. He charges at Thread, and tries to grab the whip away to protect Rory. I can't stop him, and I somehow sense what's coming before it even happens.

Thread takes out his gun with more speed than I had even thought was possible and fires it. Once.

The bullet hits my brother and Vick falls to the ground.

I wake up, shivering and shaking and sweating, breathing heavily. My heart rate is high, and my breaths are coming in short, sudden gasps.

_Calm down,_ I tell myself. It was just a nightmare. My brothers are safe. No one is dead. No one is hurt, except for me, but I think I'll be fine.

My eyes can barely stay open and even when they're wide open, I can't see. My vision is blurring and I can't feel anything except for an almost paralyzing pain in my back. I've seen the victims of mining accidents before in the Everdeen's home. It's strange to think that I can now be grouped among the numbers of patients Mrs. Everdeen treats.

I can feel my head start to pound with a headache, and my vision starts to turn black.

I'm still left with an overwhelming feeling of hatred for Thread, which I know is ridiculous. He _was_ just doing his job. He never mocked me, never hurt my family, only caught me with a turkey. He's a bad man, but _not_ my enemy.

No. That's the Capitol.

As my vision fades out, I drift back into my dream world, only this time it's a memory. Me and Prim and Mrs. Everdeen on that first day of the Games.

I'm in Mrs. Everdeen's living room, Prim on one side of me, her mother on the other.

We're sitting in silence. It is the first day of the 74th Hunger Games, and I don't even know what to expect. Yeah, Peeta Mellark has declared his love for her on national television, but I don't believe that he can possibly love her. Even if he actually does, what is he going to do about it? Make sure that he's not the one to bring the blade to her throat?

I don't think for one moment that that is going to keep Katniss safe. If anything, it has made her even more of a target.

The gong rings out. Mrs. Everdeen whimpers and squeezes her eyes shut. Prim's eyes are on the floor, and she is muttering under her breath. "Katniss come home Katniss come home Katniss come home."

I wonder if Katniss remembers the time she made that exact promise to me. Will she come home? It seems almost impossible that she will. Especially with the all those people after her. I know she's strong, and smart, but-

_No,_ I stop myself from finishing the sentence. _She'll live. She has to._

My eyes are glued to the screen, watching as she is lifted up into the arena. Her grey eyes flash as she drinks in her surroundings for the customary sixty seconds, and I find myself digging my nails into the arms of the chair that I'm sitting in.

In my mind, I'm repeating Prim's words. _Katniss come home Katniss come home Katniss come home. _It's like my mind can't handle anything more than that, like any more complicated arrangement of words will make me start thinking, and thinking is the last thing I want to do right now.

I wish I could tell her what to do, help her in some way. She looks at the Cornucopia, and I can see in her eyes that she's trying to decide if she should go to the stash of supplies. Everything is useful, and she will need all the help she can get.

She makes a snap decision and runs towards the giant golden horn.

Is she stupid? Everyone knows that the Cornucopia is a bloodbath!

My eyes land on what hers must have picked up ages ago. There is a bow and arrow set, and she wants it.

I'm upset at myself. I was the one who told her to get her hands on a bow and arrow- but I didn't realize how bad of an idea that was. I don't want her to get killed trying to get this stupid weapon, but I am well aware that this is how it could easily turn out. I will never forgive myself if she dies because of some bad advice I gave her.

I shout, "No!" and lunge forward, as if I can stop her. But she doesn't hear me. She is thousands of miles away, trying to save her life, and I am stuck here, in District 12. I can't do anything.

I am suddenly reminded of the way I felt when my father died. Helpless. There is nothing I can do to help her.

The gold of her mockingjay pin flashes in the sunlight, and I bite my lip, forcing myself to shut up and sit back down. She's smart. She'll figure it out. She'll survive. I'm sure of it.

The view on the television switches to a fight between two boys, and I dig my nails into the fabric of the chair I am sitting on. Why aren't they keeping the screen on Katniss? She's the only one that matters! I need to know exactly what she is doing 24/7 now, because even one instant could make the difference between life and death.

The T.V switches to a promotional ad from the President, a reminder that watching the Games is mandatory.

"But you don't need to be told that, now do you?" He says cheerily. I want to punch him. "As if you could stop watching! The Games are _far_ too exciting to stop watching now! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." He winks.

My nails continue to dig into the chair, this time, not because of anxiety, but because of anger. Let's see _him_ be a tribute and survive. Let's see him live on only what he can scavenge.

But he's been bred in the Capitol, and besides, he's the President. He will never know anything other than comfort. The only revenge I will ever have on him is in my mind.

Katniss appears on the screen, and now she is running from the Cornucopia, a small bag of provisions slung over her shoulder. She has blood on her, but I can't tell if it's her own or someone else's.

Prim looks terrified, and she comes over from where she's sitting on the ground. She grabs my hand in hers and joins me on the chair. Her light blue eyes are watery and filled with tears, from fear or guilt, I can't tell. All I know is she is far too young to have to watch this happen to her sister. I pull her into a hug. She murmurs something into my shoulder, and I can barely make out what she's saying.

"It's all my fault." she whispers.

I am shocked by this, and I turn her around so she's facing me.

"Prim, don't say that. It's not your fault. None of it is your fault. Katniss was incredibly brave to take your place, but it was the right thing to do. Whatever you do, you _can't blame yourself._"

"But what if…" her voice becomes so quiet I can barely hear her. "What if she dies?"

"She's not going to die." I wipe the tears from Prim's cheeks. "She's _not_ going to die."

Neither of us say anything for a while, and soon the only sounds I can hear in the room are the quiet sobs of Mrs. Everdeen.

I hug Prim again.

Together, we sit in that chair, in front of that television, staring at our lifeline to Katniss. She _has_ to live.

The three of us are all thinking the same thing now, and I'm positive of it.

_Katniss come home Katniss come home Katniss come home._

When my dream ends and I begin to wake up, I barely notice. My back is searing with the pain, so much that I can't help the groan of distress that comes from my lips.

I think I can hear voices.

"Do you think he'll live?"

It's my mother's voice. My mind latches onto it and tries to move towards it, to break out of the limbo I'm in.

"He's waking up." Prim?

"I don't think that's the best option for him," Mrs. Everdeen murmurs. "He needs-"

But I'll never know what I need. I pass out before I can hear the rest of the sentence. And it isn't until much later that I realize Mrs. Everdeen never said if I would live.

My dream, once again, is a memory, although this one is fuzzy and unbelievable, even to me. It's what actually happened, but the details themselves seem like I'm watching the events through a fogged up window- they're just shapes in my mind, no real definition.

I'm eighteen years old, and am currently being interviewed for national television.

It's the usual thing to do, when there are only eight contestants left. Their family/friends are interviewed about how their Tribute is doing so far.

I don't want to answer. I don't want to become entertainment for the Capitol audience, but I really don't have any choice. I just won't be very exciting for them.

"So, Gale, what exactly is your relation to Katniss?"

"I'm her best friend." I say, putting as little emotion into my voice as I possibly can. Of course, this comment isn't missed by the interviewer, a guy named Tyson Summers, who obviously thinks that he's some kind of junior Caesar Flickerman.

"Are you really?" He asks. I resist the urge to reply "duh, I just said that." He takes a breath in. "And how long have you known her?"

"For a long time," I respond. "Since she was about eleven years old."

"And do you think she can win the Games?"

"Yes, I do," I say. "She's made it this far, hasn't she? Once she's in the top eight, it's safe to hope that she can make it home." Hope. The word suddenly strikes me as being strange, and almost obsolete. The only thing I have any hope for anymore is that Katniss will live, and yet even that hope seems useless to me. What good will my hope do? Hope can't save her life. It can't stop an arrow. Hope can't feed a starving mouth, or bind a gaping wound. Hope brings the kind of comfort that really isn't necessary to life. Hope… brings pain.

"Well, she sure is a resourceful girl, we have to give her that one." He answers. But that's really not at all what he cares about, and he seems almost impatient to get to the real juicy discussion. I guess he thinks he's just on the verge of some major dirt so he leans closer to me and asks what I suppose everyone in the Capitol is wondering. "So, tell me, Gale, how do you feel about the romance between Katniss and Peeta?"

I know _exactly_ how I feel about their 'romance,' and I wish I could make it clear in no uncertain terms what I think about it, but I rethink this particular action. There's a time and a place to be rebellious and to have a smart mouth, and this is definitely not the right place. Here, if I say even one word wrong, or something that could be slightly treasonous, I'll get killed or punished somehow. No one will even think twice about it. And I'd probably deserve it, if I was stupid enough to make such an idiotic announcement.

"I-" I clear my throat. "I don't see how this can possibly have a happy ending," I say honestly. The interviewer furrows his eyebrows, like he's not sure where I'm going with this.

Tyson frowns. "And why is that? Is it because you secretly like her? Because you think there has to be a better person out there than Peeta? Because-"

I cut him off. While all of those things are true, I'm going to make the people in the Capitol think twice about what exactly they're doing. I realize what I'm about to say is stupid, foolish, and could get me in a lot of trouble, but only if I word it wrong.

"No. It's because… well, because it's so _tragic._ They love each other so much, but they can never be together. It- well, it really is a shame." I finally conclude. There. I've said nothing treasonous, nothing that would promote a rebellion, nothing that the Capitol didn't already know. I was just _reminding_ them of the awful truth that they've created.

Tyson sighs. "Yes, it's true. Young love is so fleeting."

"Especially in the Games," I murmur. It's so quiet I know that the cameras couldn't have picked it up. I'm not even sure if the words ever left my mouth. Tyson keeps talking.

"You know," he says conspiratorially, like he is sharing a secret with me, "I think they should change the rules so two people can win. That way Katniss and Peeta can have their own happily ever after."

I almost laugh out loud at this. Doesn't he know, there's no 'happily ever after' in horror stories?

I don't even get a chance to adjust to this dream before it changes. The background melts away behind me.

This time, my dream doesn't make any sense at all, not even to me. It's not a sequence of events, there's no story there. It's just a jumble of moments from my life, moments with Katniss. The first time I met her. When that red-haired girl and boy were caught by the Capitol, and we watched while it happened. The time Katniss twisted her ankle and I had to carry her home because she couldn't walk on it. When I told her that I loved her. When I said goodbye to her on her way to the arena. The time a lynx followed her around the woods and I decided that "Catnip" really was a good name for her. A thousand memories, quiet moments, loud moments, everything I can remember about her. It's like my mind is stocking up on memories, like I'm worried I might lose her again.

That, of course, is ridiculous. I'm not going to lose her. She can't ever go back into the Games again, and she has no other way to die. She's set up for life. She'll be safe. And if she decides she _does_ love Peeta and she _does _run away, maybe she could even be happy.

Will she run away? I find it hard to believe and yet at the same time, I can't imagine her staying here in District 12, not if she knows there's something better out there. And it's true. There _is_ something better out there- if a place that's not under the influence of the Capitol really does exist, I have no doubts that she'll find it. Katniss is nothing if not determined.

There's one memory in particular that I keep playing, over and over and over again, like a video clip on loop.

Katniss and I, in the woods on a Sunday afternoon soon after she got back from the Arena. I was a bit late to our usual spot, scared out of my mind that maybe she would never come back into the woods, that she had given up on me and just decided that Peeta was hers and there was no point in having a best friend when she could have a _boyfriend._ She was sitting on a rotted log when I saw her, her face tight and strained like she was going to cry if I didn't show up.

I'd seen her cry before, but never at my expense. This was… unusual. As much as I wanted to talk to her, I couldn't bring myself to be the one to make first contact. I hadn't seen her in weeks, since the day of the Reaping to now, my only conversations with her had been in my mind. She'd had to struggle through something that could only be described as hell, and I had no way to tell how much she'd changed.

But it was when the tears actually became visible, I couldn't stop myself anymore. I stepped out into the clearing, not sure what to expect.

I got a surprise, that was for sure. She jumped to her feet and ran at me, throwing her arms around my neck and burying her face in my chest, crying a little for real. I just held her. Nothing else. It was enough just to have her in my arms for the moment and let this instant last forever in my mind.

It was when she started hiccupping that I had to let her go, because her entire body was wracked with the spasms. I told her she needed water. We got some. For me, still, the entire conversation seemed a little awkward. Like neither of us were sure what the other one could handle.

I didn't talk about the Games, and she didn't talk about the mines. We silently agreed to only talk about the things that hadn't changed, things that wouldn't bring up bad memories, or possible futures.

It was obvious to me that she was different. Somehow, she had become more fragile even though she had just gone through an ordeal that should have made her stronger.

By the end of the day, things were running smoothly. Katniss seemed happy that she was back in the woods with me, which of course made _me_ incredibly happy.

But she seemed… a bit too eager to make things 'back to normal.' I didn't see the point. Things _weren't_ normal, would never be the same again, and acting like they were wouldn't do anything good for us at all. But if that's what Katniss wanted, then that's what I'd do.

When we were about to leave the woods through the hole in the fence closest to the Hob, she suddenly announced that I needed to take all the game and trade it myself today. She had enough to eat, since she won, and she really didn't need any of what we had caught. I knew it was true, but I didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to feel like I was her special charity project, instead of what I really was. Her partner.

Katniss kept talking, but I had more or less stopped listening. I was too busy staring at her. It suddenly hit me that I really _had_ come close to losing her. Katniss really _could_ have died, and I was hit by a staggering sense of grief. Katniss. Dead?

No. No, I could never let that happen. My eyes landed on her lips, and the motion that I'd been contemplating for years now suddenly rose to my mind. I almost lost her once. There was no way it was going to happen again.

And of course, there was the _real_ problem. How could she ever choose me over Peeta if she wasn't even aware I was an option?

She was starting to say something about taking over my snare run when I completely lost my mind. I couldn't help it anymore.

I leaned over, grabbed her face in my hands as gently as I could, and kissed her.

It is _that_ moment that my brain seems to want to remember the most, because as I lie in my bed, covered in bandages and heavily sedated, that kiss unfolds before me, except my mind tweaks it and changes it and makes it perfect. She kisses me back. Tells me she loves me. And… something else.

"I'm so sorry," I can hear her whisper. I don't know if it's real or not. I hope it is.

Suddenly, I know I'm not dreaming anymore, because I feel a slight pressure on my lips, and my dream is suddenly reality.

My eyelids flutter open to see a blurry outline of Katniss, bending over me. Kissing me. I can't do anything but lie there and try my hardest not to pass out again.

When she finally moves away, I find it in myself to whisper, "Hey, Catnip." I can't manage anything else. It requires too much thought.

"Hey, Gale," Katniss says in reply. I think her eyes might be watery, but I can't tell for sure. My vision isn't really clear right now.

"Thought you'd be gone by now," I murmur. What happened to her escape plan? What happened to taking her 'lover' into the woods, searching for that mythical safe place?

She shakes her head, holding my hand loosely in hers, like she's scared she might break me if she holds on any tighter. I want to hold on to her tighter, to keep myself grounded in the real world. I squeeze as hard as I can, but it's still painfully weak. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all sorts of trouble."

And suddenly, I know. She's chosen me. Maybe she still hasn't decided which of us she loves, but she had the choice to go with Peeta or to stay with me, and she chose to stay.

She chose me.

It's almost impossible for me to think of anything else, but I mumble, "Me, too." I smile a little as the thought saturates in my mind. I know I'm fading out again, and my mind latches onto that single line as though it will keep me from returning to uncertainty.

_She chose me._

_N/A: Yeah, it's me again. Sorry these chapters are so long, but I'm trying to keep them about the same length as _real_ chapters. Next chapter will be a bit more satisfying, because Gale will actually be awake, which means I'll have a bit more to work with. : ) Hope you enjoyed it!_


	3. Chapter 3

_N/A: I just realized that I haven't officially put a disclaimer up on this story, and I'm not sure if that's realllly that important on a FAN-FICTION website, but just in case: No, I don't own the Hunger Games. Obviously. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this._

_Enjoy!_

The next few days pass in a sequence similar to the first one- I sleep, dream, and am given a lot of medicines to keep me from feeling the full extent of my injuries.

Normally I would be a little annoyed that I'm so out of it, but all I can feel is grateful that I'm only feeling a fraction of the pain that I _should_ have.

I can feel myself receiving treatment, the only problem is I'm not entirely sure how exactly I'm being treated. At one point, something freezing is pressed onto my back, and I have the strange feeling that I'm getting burned and frozen all at the same time. It hurts, but it's a _good_ sort of pain. Sort of relieveing, actually. My eyes flutter open momentarily and I can't help but let out a small moan of relief. Whatever is being done to me is a good thing. Sure, it hurts, but it will help. It's the type of pain that means I'm healing. I'm grateful to that.

I don't actually wake up until a good while later, when whatever medicine I've been given has slightly worn off and I am back in the real world.

My eyes flutter open and I hear a voice. "He's awake? Is he awake?"

I can't even get myself to answer. I hear footsteps coming closer to me. Mrs. Everdeen's face is close to mine.

"Gale?"

I groan in response. It's about all I can handle.

"Yes, he's awake, but not entirely responsive. You can come over here and talk to him, but don't count on him _replying._"

My mother's voice answers, and I hear her walk over to me. "Gale? Gale, are you all right?"

I moan quietly. "Sort of," my voice comes out weakly, and I start laughing. It hurts too much. My laughs turn into weak coughs.

My mother grabs my hand in hers. "Oh, thank God," she whispers. "We were so scared that you weren't going to make it."

"Am I?" My eyes are closing again, but I'm still there. The pain in my back is strong, and it's taking all of my concentration to stay awake.

"Yes, we think so." she gives a worried, relieved laugh.

"What happened?" I mumble. I don't know if it comes out the way I meant it to, but I think my mother gets the message because she answers.

"Katniss happened." I'm confused. What could Katniss possibly have done? My mother corrects herself. "Well, and Mr. Abernathy and Peeta. I don't think you would have lived if they hadn't been there."

Haymitch and Peeta? Wow. Either of those two people saving my life is… an impossibility. I was under the impression that they both hated me.

"You were already unconscious when Katniss found out you were being whipped. She jumped in front of Thread's whip and took a hit for you. Right to the face."

_She does care. Why else would she get in the way?_ Even more important is, is she ok? If my mind is to be trusted, and it's not, then I _think _she kissed me. I don't remember seeing any bruises or cuts on her face. So my only explanations are that I was dreaming the whole scene, or I was half-blind and way out of it and just missed seeing the damage.

I wince. I got whipped, I know how it feels. Even the thought of her getting hit _once_ is enough to make me cringe.

"Thread didn't recognize her at first. Then Haymitch stepped up and made sure Thread knew who Katniss was. Even Peeta said that you should be set free." I can't believe it. Why does Peeta have to be so hard to hate? "He helped carry you to the Everdeen's home. We've been trying to fix you up here, gave you snow coat and everything. Katniss refuses to leave, and Peeta… well, even he's been staying around and helping you."

I make a sound that is supposed to be a laugh. It comes out sounding like a wheeze.

"What's wrong?" my mother asks. She sounds alarmed.

"Well, this proves it. He's better than me. Saving my life? He totally one-upped me. I don't know how I'm supposed to beat _that_." I'm not sure how much of the sentence actually came out of my mouth. My lips feel numb and uncontrollable. Is it awful that I really just want to go back to sleep?

I don't need to explain what I mean. My mother gets it, and even with my eyes closed I can practically imagine her shaking her head. I start to feel myself slipping into another dream, and I hope she makes her answer quick, because I don't know how much longer I'll be awake for.

"Don't make light of the situation, Gale. They really have risked a lot for you." She gives my hand a squeeze. "I know how you feel about Peeta, but maybe you should try talking to him. Regardless of what you say, I honestly don't think you two are that different."

My mother just lets me sit there for a moment, and then she stands up. "I'm sorry Gale, but I have to go now. Posy's at home still, and she has the measles…" my mother trails off and then adds, "her fever broke, so that's why I was able to come over to talk to you. Katniss came by with some medicines for her earlier, but I only just managed to get away. I'm sorry I wasn't here when-" she breaks off, and I nod at her, understanding. Posy is more important than me right now. I wouldn't want it any other way. "I wish I could stay here with you, but… I can help Posy a bit more than I can help you." she laughs tiredly, her weariness evident in her eyes. My poor mother. I'm suddenly overcome by a feeling of overwhelming shame. I can't believe I got hurt, got caught, when my family needs me. I think my mother realizes how guilty I feel, because she shakes her head, a small smile on her lips. "I love you." She bends down and kisses my forehead. "But, think about what I said. Try talking to Peeta. It will help." I murmur a goodbye and she leaves, rushing to take care of my sick sister.

I don't even reply to that comment about Peeta. I can't think of anyway to answer. How are we alike? I can't think of any way, not a way at all.

Peeta is the designated "ladies' man." He's the sweet, sensitive one. The kind, dreamy baker who has more bad luck than almost anyone else alive. He's the world famous winner of the Games who would have died in them just so his 'true love' could go home. The one every girl in the Capitol wishes they could know.

Compared to that, what am I? What makes me worth taking a second look at?

I'm a miner, a hunter, the rebellious, outspoken one. The boy who had to stop being a boy when his father died, who had to break the law daily just to survive. The one who will never have his story televised, whose life is a virtual carbon copy of many other kids out here in District 12. I'm the one who was finally caught for poaching. The only notice the Capitol will ever take of me is to acknowledge the fact that I am now a convicted criminal.

How does my mother see anything similar in that? The only thing I can think of is that we both will do anything to keep the people we love alive. But that's it.

But even as I think it, I can start to see the similarities. We both hate the Capitol, for different reasons. We both have suffered at the hands of the government. He lost a leg. I lost my father. We love the same girl. We fear losing her.

It seems to me that while maybe our personalities are different, our most passionate emotions are linked, in a way. And I find myself thinking that maybe my mother is right. Maybe we're _not_ that different.

I fall asleep, still thinking about Peeta. It's not until much later that I realize I never replied to my mother.

When I wake up again, Mrs. Everdeen and Prim are tending to the skin on my back. I'm trying not to let them know I'm awake because I'm worried they might put me under again. I really hate being unconscious. I hate being useless. I _hate_ it.

"Prim, can you hand me the bandages? It's about time to change them again."

Prim must nod or something else nonverbal, because I don't hear her reply. I grit my teeth, bracing myself for the pain that I know has to be coming.

I can feel whatever is on my back being lifted off gently, but the fabric of the previous bandage sticks to the raw skin and I can't help myself. I let out a small noise that Mrs. Everdeen must hear, but she doesn't react to it. The only clue I have that leads me to believe she heard me is that Prim takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

My body wants to squirm away from the pain, but my brain won't let me. Some part of me realizes that if I move, I will only create more work for Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, and if they have more work, I have more pain.

I force myself to stay still.

As her mother cleans my back, Prim continues holding on to my hand. It's strange, but it's sort of comforting. She reminds me of Posy, in a way, even though my sister is nothing like her. Prim is a quiet sort of person, whereas Posy… is confident, to say the least. She's loud and bold, (then again, she doesn't really understand when she shouldn't talk) and already, at only five years old (!) she's breaking hearts left and right. She can barely talk, but once she gets started there's no stopping her. To think that she's sick right now is driving me crazy. I need to be home, helping out, and I can't. I don't know when I willbe able to go home. I just need to check on my family, make sure they're alright. It's my job now, and has been ever since my father died.

Prim starts to pull away, but I hold onto her hand a little bit tighter, trying to keep her from leaving.

"Don't go," I whisper, the words finally leaving my mouth. I can't see her, but I think she nods.

"I won't."

For some reason, I feel strangely… relieved, and I let out the breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding.

It's a good thing too, because Mrs. Everdeen tears off the bandage the rest of the way, and I can barely stifle my yelp of pain. I feel like she's just ripped off a layer of my skin, which, she probably has.

My fingers dig into Prim's palm, but it's a weak motion, and I can tell it's not hurting her at all. She just pats the back of my hand with hers gently, and her mother begins to rub some salve or poultice onto my back. I'm glad Prim is here, even if Katniss is not. I don't think Katniss entirely understands it, but Prim is practically my little sister now. I took care of her when Katniss was in the arena, and even before then, I have always counted Prim as family.

When they finish doing whatever it is to my back, there is a knock on the door.

"Come on in," Mrs. Everdeen calls.

The door swings open, but I'm asleep before I can even tell who it is.

Mercifully, there are no dreams this time. I don't think I'm asleep for very long, because I'm woken by voices again, both of them male. Are they the visitors who knocked on the door?

I can't think of how I recognize these voices, and then I hear one of them speak loud and clear.

"It's a good thing you got there in time, kid," says the voice. It sounds familiar. Gruff and husky- is it Haymitch? I've only ever heard him speak on television. I don't think I've ever had a real conversation with this man before, and I'm surprised that he's here, talking about me.

The voice that replies is familiar to me, so familiar it surprises me, because I've barely spoken two words to him. We hate each other on principle, yet haven't actually held a real conversation. I've had hundreds of conversations with him in my head, and I feel sort of like I know him because of the Games. Peeta.

"I didn't get there in time." He sounds annoyed. "'In time' would have meant I got there before it ever happened."

"Well, if you ask Katniss, I'm sure 'in time' qualifies as any moment before Gale, here, died."

"You don't get it, do you, Haymitch?" Peeta sounds like he's in physical pain. "I wasn't going to stop the punishment. It was _Katniss_ who had to leap in front of the whip!" He sounds disgusted with himself.

Haymitch sounds exasperated. "Peeta, you're not a hero. You don't _have_ to go around saving every stupid kid that gets himself caught!" I sort of resent the 'stupid,' but I'm curious. Where is he going with this?

"He's _her_ best friend. And I was perfectly willing to let him die."

"No offense, but who cares? He probably wouldn't have saved _you_ if the positions were reversed!" I guess it would depend on the situation, but Haymitch is probably right. I don't know that I would have gone out of my way to save Peeta. Maybe I would have, but I just… don't know.

"That doesn't matter." There's silence for a brief moment.

Haymitch finally sighs. "Whatever, Peeta." I think I hear him leave the room. Peeta stays in here with me, and I decide now is as good a time as ever to have a conversation with him.

"Why _did_ you save me?" I mumble. My voice is weak still, but just loud enough that I'm positive he can hear me. The whole scene is blurry, my eyesight is wavering.

He jumps a little. "You're awake?"

"No, I'm talking in my sleep," I respond. My tone is sarcastic, but it's not mean. I'm so out of it I don't think I could be mean if I tried.

After a moment of silence, he replies. He had to think about it though, and when he responds it's like he's not entirely sure of the answer himself.

"I was thinking- I really don't have any real reason to hate you. What have you ever done to me?" He says bluntly. "We love the same girl. So what? Shouldn't that be a reason to like each other? We have the same taste. We have something in common."

I don't feel like he answered the question very well. "So, you saved me… because you couldn't think of any reason _not_ to?" I clarify. It sounds crazy to me. Then again, I'm on incredibly powerful opiates. _Everything_ sounds crazy to me.

Peeta shakes his head, his ashy blonde hair flopping around. "No. I'll be honest, it was sort of selfish on my part." He smiles. "All I could think of was how upset Katniss would be if you died. And that was enough to make me decide you needed to be saved. Anyway, I didn't even step in until _after_ Katniss got whipped, so I guess you could say it was because I didn't want her to get hurt anymore."

This sounds more believable, but something in his voice makes me think he's not being one hundred percent honest with me.

"That's still not a good reason to risk your life for me."

He sighs. "Okay. Maybe I honestly just didn't want you to die?"

I consider this. It's reasonable. "Well, that's good. I don't really want you to die either." I realize as I'm saying it that it's the truth. I _know_ I'm half crazy with the drugs because something prompts me to say quietly, "Katniss would be lucky to have you."

I get a glimpse of his face. Pure shock, like he can't believe that arrangement of words has just come out of my mouth. I can't really believe it, either. The problem is, I know it's true.

He shakes his head. "Thanks, but the chances of us being together are getting slim, no thanks to you."

"Huh?" It's the most I can manage.

"You didn't see her face when she thought you were dead." His expression is dark. "I don't know what's actually going on with you two, but I have an idea. Katniss herself may not even know it yet, but she loves you."

For some reason, him saying this makes me angry. He doesn't know. If _she_ doesn't know, there's no way _he_ can. Anyway, this seems almost condescending coming from him. Like the victor of a game saying, "oh, I may have won, but you did really well, too." It's obvious she loves _him_. I don't want to hear this. I start to answer, but the words won't come from my mouth. Instead I just shake my head as much as possible while I'm lying on my side.

"Cave," I whisper. "You two, in the cave."

I can tell he understands exactly what I'm trying to say. That _he_ didn't see _her_ in the cave. When _he_ was half-dead. That was love. And it's been killing me to admit it.

He sounds exasperated, and starts to reply. "I- no, I-" He breaks off abruptly and then just shakes his head. "You and I, we've got it pretty bad, don't we."

"Yeah," I murmur. "Pretty bad."

I'm about to ask him the real question, the one I've been trying to avoid thinking about. I know Katniss said she wasn't going to run away anymore, but I need to know if she ever actually asked him. If he said that he'd go with her. I don't want to believe it, but she sounded pretty serious when I was talking to her at the lake house.

I'm opening my mouth to speak, when I'm attacked by another round of pains. A grimace appears on my face, and he looks concerned. "You ok?"

"Not really," I reply hoarsely. He calls for Mrs. Everdeen and she runs back into the room, a syringe in her hand.

"What's wrong?"

"I think it's time for more medicine," Peeta says. I'm both grateful and a little annoyed. I want medicine, obviously, but I don't really want to go back to sleep. I just want to get back to reality.

"Where did you even get the medicine?" I ask quietly. I know they can't have a lot to spare, and there's no way I'm really a priority. Unless… maybe I am. In which case, I need a _lot_ more medication than I could ever hope to receive. We only consider people 'priorities' if they're close to death.

"Madge Undersee brought some," says Mrs. Everdeen cheerfully.

Madge? That's sort of unexpected. I know her, but not nearly well enough for her to bring medicine like that for me. The sort of pain medications I'm on have to be worth a fortune, which is a little bit ridiculous. After all, I'm just the guy who brings her strawberries.

Mrs. Everdeen and Peeta continue talking, but I'm way out of it, trying my hardest to conceal the amount of pain I'm in. I'm pretty sure I fail at it, because I catch a snippet of their conversation.

"-more medication-"

"-higher dosage-"

Another syringe is stabbed into my arm and I am sent back to sleep and peace, contemplating Madge.

Why would she waste valuable medicine on me like that? I've seen her at school, and around town (after all, she _is_ the mayor's daughter). I even worked on a project with her in class, and yeah, some of my friends have said that she _might_ have a crush on me, but I'm not sure I believe that. I still can't seem to understand _why_. I'm no one special.

This last thought reminds me of my conversation with Peeta.

I think about everything he said to me, and decide he's a good guy. He might even be good for Katniss. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up on her, not in the slightest. I'm going to fight for her with everything I've got.

The days pass in a monotonous pattern of sleeping, waking up, being given medicine, being forced to eat, then falling back asleep again. I'm told very little about the outside world, even when I ask. Mrs. Everdeen seems to think it's a bad idea to tell me, and Katniss doesn't even think to let me know. When she comes to talk to me, she's always preoccupied, her mind in a different place. What's going on with her? I can't tell if she's upset or just confused. I wish I could see what was going on in her mind. But I can't, and I'm left, not knowing anything about the outside world, frustrated that I have no idea what's going on. I don't even know if Posy's feeling any better. All I'm told is that my family misses me, that they pass on their love, that school's going well. The information is all too… _boring_. I just _know_ there's something that I'm not being told, and because of it, I'm left extremely worried. What could be so bad that they would refuse to tell me?

Sometimes when I wake up, Katniss is there, other times its Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, but it's never anyone else. My mother, I guess, can't leave Posy's side, and my brothers are at school. It's my guess that everyone else I know is at the mines, but I find out later that that's a completely incorrect assumption.

The days are just sequences of 'firsts' for me. The first time I sit up. The first time I stand. The first time I can walk. The first time I can wear a shirt comfortably again. I mark the days by what I get accomplished in them, because I'm determined to get back to work soon, to return to my family. I'm sick of waiting here on the Everedeen's charity. Yes, Katniss is my best friend, but I hate leeching off of her like this.

When I wake up one afternoon about a week and a half later, my two brothers are sitting at my side, looking worried.

I open my eyes and can see the two of them whispering quickly to each other, arguing in that way that only brothers can. Rory looks a little angry. Vick looks a little scared.

"I don't care_ what_ Mother said, he needs to hear it." Rory says sharply. Neither of them seem to realize that I'm there.

"No! Don't you dare tell him." Vick's voice is soft, but he never speaks loudly. "You know that it's a bad idea. It'll just make him upset-"

"What's wrong?" I ask. My voice has a little more power in it now, and I'm pleased to say that I'm feeling a little bit better. Still hurting, but not nearly as badly.

Both Rory and Vick whirl around to face me, their anger dissolving as soon as they see my face. I break into a grin and the two of them come over to me, looking like they want to hug me, but knowing that's a bad idea. They don't look so upset, but neither one of them is particularly overjoyed to see me.

"Gale!" says Rory loudly.

"You're not dead," says Vick shakily. He sounds terrified, but I think he was trying to make a joke. I decided to reply like he was kidding. I refuse to act weak around them.

"Nope, definitely not," I reply. I'm trying to force myself to sound healthy and happy and strong, because it's one thing to scare my mother with how bad I am, and quite a different thing entirely to scare my little brothers. "Although it was pretty close," I laugh. The laugh sounds forced to me, and I hope that neither of my brothers notices it.

But Rory catches on immediately, scowling at me. "Knock it off."

I'm shocked by this. "Huh?"

"You heard me. Cut it out. Stop trying to act like everything's going to be okay."

Vick starts to interrupt. "Rory, we went over this, don't start-"

"No," says Rory sharply. "Don't tell me what to do." He turns and looks at me, his face angry. "Look, I don't know if you've realized or not, but we _know_ you're not alright, so stop pretending that everything's all hunky-dory. You practically _died_ two days ago, and here you are, laughing and joking, and trying to sound all brave and strong and you know what? I don't think I can handle it. I can be brave for Mom, but not for you. Especially not for you. Don't you realize how serious this is? The mines have been shut down now all week, Mom can't get any work, and here you are, _still_, while our food supplies are dwindling and Posy's _still sick_." Tears are coming to his eyes, but he keeps talking, just shaking his head. "You always said you'd take care of us, but how are you going to do it now?" He drops his gaze as he says darkly, "You can't even take care of yourself."

I don't even know how to respond to this. At first I'm confused, and then it turns to me just being annoyed with myself. Yeah, I was acting all _noble_, not wanting my siblings to see the pain I was in, not wanting them to know how bad I had it, but I didn't even _think_ of how this all might be affecting them. Part of me wonders if my desire to 'protect them' was really just a desire to not be seen in this weakened state.

I'm so hypocritical. Just looking at my two brothers, I can tell that it doesn't matter if they had seen me get beat or not. They still will feel the repercussions, it will be _their_ bellies that will be empty if I don't heal and get to work soon, it will be _them_ who will have to sign up for tesserae, and they _will_ suffer. I look from Rory to Vick, and realize that even if Vick tried to stop Rory from saying what he said, he agrees with him. They both are angry at me, and I'm left with a feeling of guilt so strong it hurts as bad as the whipping had, just in a different way. This pain is in my heart.

I start to answer, but change my mind and sigh instead. "You're right. I'm sorry."

The two of them look startled by this declaration, and I press onward. "I've been treating you like you're still kids, and you're not. Yes, I _do_ realize how close to dying I was, still am, maybe, but I've just been trying to protect you. That's all."

Vick says quietly, "well, thanks, but we'd rather be informed than protected."

Rory nods his agreement.

"All right. I won't try to pretend anymore," I reply, but somehow I feel and incredible remorse that this entire situation has made me lose the brothers I had. Neither one of them is very innocent anymore, and it makes me sad to know that they have had to grow up so quickly. "But, you two have to tell me what's going on at home. What's this I hear about the mines closing?"

And they tell me, everything that's been happening while I have been closed up in the Everdeens' home.

The mines randomly shut down almost two weeks ago, closed until further notice, which of course means that no one got paid last week, and no one will get paid this week either. Many, if not all of the people in District 12, count on that paycheck to feed their families. Without it, I don't know how anyone is going to survive.

I'm angry now that the Everdeens didn't tell me this. Of course I wouldn't realize it in _their_ house, because they're set for life, they'll _never_ need to worry about having enough food, but it makes me mad that they wouldn't tell me that my family was in trouble. What happens when my family runs out of food? From what Rory and Vick say, there have been food shortages already. When they went to get more food because they were getting low on supplies, there was nothing for sale for a price they could afford. They've been rationing the food they _do_ have, but that has almost run out. It seems that everyone in the District has been having problems with food.

Rory tells me that people, a lot of his friends, have started to sign up for tesserae in hordes, but quite often, the kids don't even get the food they applied for. This makes me angry, for some reason. These kids are putting their lives on the line for more food, and they're not even getting what they've been promised? My anger changes to gratitude. Neither of my brothers will ever have to sign up for tesserae. They both know how my mother and I feel about that, and our family should always have enough without Vick and Rory signing up for the meager portions of wheat and oil.

Vick chimes in that Parcel Day came and went, but the food was moldy and full of worms. The long-expected relief was ruined, completely inedible. Is the Capitol trying to starve out our District? Why would they do something like that?

I'm told that the Hob has been burned down, and even though I can't really explain why, I'm sad. I think back on the abandoned warehouse, and all I can really think of is how selling my game there has saved my life over and over again. I owe so much to the black-market and the venders there. Yes, I learned my lesson. No more hunting. But to think that people actually tried to get rid of the Hob? I can't believe it. I am literally in shock.

There are new, strict, Peacekeepers in our District now, the type Katniss saw in District 11. People have stopped using my mother for laundry because I'm so _clearly_ a convicted criminal, and goodness knows that even associating with my _family_ is a surefire way to get in trouble with the authorities. So not only is my family hungry; they are poor, sick, and out of work.

I stop Vick from speaking for a moment, and look at the two of them, worry clear on their faces.

"What have you been doing, then? How do you have anything to eat?"

They exchange a nervous glance, and I suddenly have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Vick and Rory seem to be having a kind of silent conversation, because he glares at Rory until he replies to me.

"Well, Katniss has been bringing us some food, but we all kind of agreed that we couldn't accept all of it. There are hungrier people out there, who need the help more."

I nod a little, understanding this (it's our downfall, but everyone in my family is notoriously proud) but wonder what they could possibly be doing to bring in food. Neither of my brothers can hunt, and I wouldn't want them to, anyway. Not after what happened to me. My stomach is winding itself in a worried knot, and I try to meet Rory's gaze, but he looks away, almost ashamed. "So? What have you been doing for food?"

"I-" Rory begins. He scuffs his foot along the floor for a moment. "Vick can tell you." He finally mutters.

Vick looks up, startled, then shakes his head. "Oh, no you don't!" he says sharply. "We went over this. You're telling him. Not me. _Not me._"

"Telling me… what?" I say slowly. The way these two are beating around the bush, you'd think they murdered someone. It crosses my mind that maybe they _have_ murdered someone- with my brothers, you never know.

Rory is still ignoring me, but he can't seem to get himself to reply to Vick. It's like he's lost his power of speech, and I have _never_ seen Rory at a loss for words. It goes against his very nature.

Vick glares at him, angrier than I've ever seen him in my life. I'm stunned. Vick is so rarely mad that this sudden burst of rage is completely unexpected. What's _wrong_ with these two today? Neither of them is acting normal. Rory keeps flinching, like he's scared I'm going to leap out of my bed and throttle him. This is the fact that makes me the most worried- Rory's not scared of _anything,_ least of all me.

"Go on, Rory," Vick hisses. "Tell him. Tell him how _stupid_ you were."

"I-" Rory begins. He can't seem to finish the sentence. He shakes his head and looks down, but Vick won't let him get away with that.

"Tell him how you thought we needed food _so_ badly, how you wouldn't just accept that we had enough, how you refused to listen to me or Mother or anything that anyone worth listening to has _ever_ said to you. How you just _couldn't wait _to get in line to sign up for a stupid batch of food that will _never come."_ Vick forces the sentence out, practically spitting the words.

The words suddenly click in my head, but I don't want to believe what I know is the truth. No. Rory would _never_ be that stupid, that disobedient-

Who am I kidding? It's _Rory._ Of course he would! If he thought what he was doing would help his family, he'd do it. That's just who he is.

But I still refuse to believe it. Not until I hear it from Rory's own mouth.

I can't decide on what to say. Now, _I_ am speechless. I just look at Rory, waiting for him to speak.

At first he can't bring himself to admit it. "I signed up for tesserae," he whispers. When he finally looks up and meets my gaze, his eyes are red, but there are no tears. "I know you're mad, but I don't care."

"What-" I begin.

He blunders onward, rushing to get his words out of his mouth. "I mean, I'm sad you're upset with me and I know you and Mom and Vick will probably never forgive me until the day I die and Posy once she's old enough to understand will hate me too but we were low on food and you can't sign up for it anymore and Vick's not old enough, and even if he was we all know _he'd_ never disobey Mom- no offense, Vick- but I knew we needed food and I don't even know how to hunt 'cause you and Dad never taught me and I couldn't do anything to help out except sign up for tesserae. So I did." He's looking at me defiantly, daring me to argue with him.

I don't want to argue. I want to cry. My entire life, I've done everything I could so none of my siblings would ever need tesserae- so they would only get the mandatory number of entries into the Reaping. And now, so soon after my entireworld- my personal relationships, my job, my entire _District_- has crumbled, Rory had to go and make everything worse. I didn't even think it was possible.

Famous last words.

Vick is looking at me expectantly, like he's waiting for the lecture I am about to give Rory. But I don't _really_ want to lecture him. He didn't listen to me before, the _hundreds_ of times that I had said he was never to sign up for tesserae, what is going to make him listen to me now?

"But-" I begin. I have to stop, because I'm not even sure what I'm trying to say. I _do_ want to lecture him for being so stupid, and I want to yell at him for being so stubborn, but I kind of want to hug him, for being my brother and being brave and being alive.

The conflicting emotions are swirling around inside me, and finally I just shake my head, feeling so, so tired.

"It's your life," I say wearily. "It's your life."

I close my eyes, and promptly force myself to fall asleep. I don't want to deal with this right now, and the best way to ignore something- at least when you're sick- is to sleep.

When I wake up, my brothers are gone.

Two days later, Mrs. Everdeen declares that I'm officially well enough to return to my home. In a few days I can even return to the mines (which are opening again) and my family can expect an income once more, not only from me, but Katniss says she's convinced Haymitch to hire my mother as a housekeeper. We _will _have enough to eat. I remember what my father used to say- things have to get worse before they can get better.

Well, things in the near future are bound to be pretty great, because I can't think of any way they could possibly get worse.

"So. You heard about what Rory did?" My mother asks tentatively. She and I are walking down the path leading out of the Victor's Village and into the town square, and I just let out a sigh in response.

"Yes."

"And… did you talk to him about it?"

I shake my head. "I- I didn't even know what to say. It's not like he can _un_sign up for the tesserae, anyway. It's useless."

My mother doesn't respond, her eyes on the ground. My gaze drops, too.

"You know what the worst part of it is?" I ask suddenly.

"No, what is it?" She replies. Her tone is a little tired, a little empty.

"It's the fact that if I'm honest with myself, him signing up for the tesserae really _was_ his only option." I say quietly. I can sense my mother's discomfort at this, but I can also tell that she knows it's the truth.

And you know what they say. The truth hurts.

As I walk home through the streets with my mother, I notice that the town's main square is now decorated in the most pro-Capitol way possible.

Huge banners hang from the walls of the buildings, covered in the official seal of Panem. Everywhere I look, there are white-clad Peacekeepers, who don't look so _peaceful_ anymore. Many of them are standing at attention seriously, as if the President himself is about to appear. _Which he might_, I allow, thinking about what happened with Katniss and President Snow.

It's the middle of the courtyard, though, that really draws my attention. A gallows. Stockades. A _real_ whipping post, far more official than the wooden pole I was tied to.

Up on the rooftops, there are more Peacekeepers, manning machine guns that I have never even noticed before. I think these are new installations.

While part of me realizes how horrible this is, another part of me can't help but notice that one of the problems we would have with starting a revolution- the fact that none of us are permitted to have weapons and what we do have, things like my hand-made bow and arrow, will hardly bring the government to its knees- has been solved. I make a mental note to learn everything I can about these new Peacekeepers and their regulations, especially concerning their guns. When the time for an uprising comes, I'll need to be ready.

The ghost of a smile rises to my lips as I consider the possibility of an imminent uprising. Katniss said she would help me, and with her help, I believe we could convince the majority of the District that a rebellion really is the _only_ answer.

My mother notices my smile, because she frowns at me. "Why are you smiling?" It's obvious to me that the sight of the remodeled town square is disturbing her. I shake my head, looking around the square as I try to think of a response.

My eyes catch a glimpse of the bakery and the man that is standing behind the counter- Mr. Mellark. His expression is forlorn, and he looks very tired. His roof is one of the ones covered in Peacekeepers and guns. I wonder absently how he feels about this whole situation, and for some reason I can't even explain, my grin grows. An idea is starting to form in my mind, a terribly wicked idea that could either get me killed… or set my entire District free.

I'm hoping it's the second one.

I smile at my mother and shove my hands into the pockets of my torn, ratty pants as we walk out of the square and down the road into the Seam. The wind gusts up around us as we walk down the road.

"No reason in particular." My mother doesn't look like she believes me very much, but I don't really blame her. I'm not the sort of person who's just _happy_, and the look of incredulity on her face almost makes me laugh out loud.

"Honest, there's no reason, really! It's just…" I stop; force myself to not say anything about an uprising. She's my mother, and saving all of Panem isn't really on her list of priorities right now. If I say anything to her, she'd get worried and would probably lock me up to keep me safe from myself. That's just who she is.

I finally decide on an answer that will satisfy her and is actually true. "It's just… really good to be alive."

Never mind that my very _existence_ isn't definite anymore. Never mind that Rory might not be alive much longer either, all because I failed to keep watch on him, failed to see the inevitability of him signing up for that stupid tesserae. Never mind that I still don't know what's going on in Katniss's head.

None of that matters anymore. Because what I said is true.

It's great to be alive.

_N/A: Ok, I know, I know, I know. Just get to the Quarter Quell already, right? _

_Sorry, guys. It's not going to happen just yet. I feel like there's a lot of really important things that need to happen between now and when Gale finds out about Katniss's return to the Games, and I'm going to cover them first. _

_But in order for me to get there, I have a question for any of you who can help me. Here it goes: what do you guys think about the whole Gale/Madge relationship? _

_It's going to be important later in this story, so I honestly need some opinions. We all know how Madge most _likely_ feels about Gale, but how does _he _feel about _her?_ And more important: Does her personality allow for her to be part of a rebellion? Maybe not a _major_ part, but would she have enough incentive to rebel? _

_Anyway, I'd appreciate any replies or reviews y'all can give me. : ) Also warning: my next post might not come so quickly, 'cause now it's getting complicated and I definitely have a lotttt to plan. (And school's in session and sort of crazy with midterms and everything, which gives me very little time to write.) But until then, adios and thanks a ton!_


	4. Chapter 4

_N/A: I know I haven't added anything new this time, but I updates because I _did_ fix my mess-up about Rory and Vick's ages. (Thank you, Medea Smyke for correcting me!) To everyone else, thank you so so _so_ much for the reviews and the Madge ideas. Your opinions are invaluable. :) _

Unfortunately, my love for life doesn't last for very long. The fact that I now have to deal with Rory accounts partly for my sudden loss of enthusiasm, but mostly I'm worried about returning to the mines. Today is my first day back at work in almost three weeks, and I am very, very nervous.

I know I _shouldn't_ be so scared, but my back still causes me problems if I stress it, and let's face it- mining is pretty strenuous work.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table with all of my family, seated in the hand-carved wooden chairs. I don't see why we bother having meals with the family anymore, seeing as we're not eating enough for it to be considered a 'meal' by most people in the world. I know for sure that people in the Capitol might call it a 'sample.'

Today, this morning, we don't even have game or berries or fish or _anything_ that I would usually bring in from the woods beyond the fence. Just some grain that we have taken and crudely fashioned into a type of bread. I haven't been out hunting in weeks, and I don't think it would be wise of me to go out there any time soon. Thread is still keeping an eye on me, I'm sure of it.

This seems a little ridiculous, since my crime is the least of a multitude of evils. I just don't get it. Hunting doesn't hurt anyone. In fact, all it has ever done is make people healthier, happier, give them the food they so desperately need to fill those starving stomachs.

My mother is silent, eating her food quietly. Rory is avoiding looking at me, and for what it's worth, I'm trying to avoid looking at him. The last thing I want today is an argument between my little brother and me, but they've been happening more and more lately. Rory may be far younger than me, but he and I are so much alike that we spend the majority of our time arguing. And this latest issue, about the tesserae, is almost more than I can handle. Rory's arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes down on the ground beneath him, looking almost subservient.

Vick is clearly on guard, sitting on the edge of his chair, like he's waiting for me and Rory to come to blows within seconds. I want to tell him not to worry about it- Rory and I rarely yell at each other when Mom's around. I'm sure he knows that, but he's barely touched his food, his light grey eyes darting between me and Rory. He's Rory's self-proclaimed 'protector', and I can't honestly say that Rory doesn't need one. Rory is far more outspoken than I am, which leads to lots of fights at school. Our mother worries that it's going to lead to a punishment even worse than mine one day, and if it weren't for Vick, I'd agree. Vick is a natural peacekeeper, and I don't mean the kind of Peacekeepers that patrols the District. He settles disputes more easily than almost anyone else that I have ever met, and he hardly ever says a word about what he does. Usually I'm impressed by this attitude, but today I can barely stop myself from rolling my eyes. Rory doesn't need protection from me, and the thought that he might is ridiculous. Just to be safe, I avoid looking at Vick, too.

The only sound in our house is the clanking of utensils on mostly empty plates. Even little Posy hasn't said a word.

She finally breaks the awkward silence, but I don't think she entirely understands what's going on. After all, she _is_ only *five years old.

"Mommy? I'm hungry."

We all look at our mother to see how she's going to respond. She can't promise any more food to Posy, but declining her what she wants is bound to lead to a temper tantrum, and once Posy gets started there's no way to stop her. Mom doesn't say anything right away, and then answers quietly, "I know, sweetie."

Posy's plate is empty. She has already eaten her food. Her large grey eyes are wide and mournful. "I'm _really_ hungry." She repeats.

There's silence. My eye catches Vick's, and we both look down at our plates. I've still got a bit left, and his has everything. He's eaten maybe a bite, but I automatically know what he's about to do. I shake my head the slightest bit to the side, telling him not to worry about it, but his eyes meet mine and he stares evenly at me, in an expression that is telling me clearly that he's going to give her his food anyway.

My mother starts to reply, but Vick and I push our plates towards Posy simultaneously.

Rory remains suspiciously silent, and Posy murmurs, "thanks."

My stomach is already twisting itself into a knot, and I know that it's going to be a long day in the mines. Mining is hard work, and usually I eat as much as I can before I go. I burn far more energy than I take in, and since I've eaten virtually nothing, it's going to be difficult to get anything done.

Rory murmurs something to himself, but I try to ignore him.

"What was that?" Our mother asks. Rory's face turns red and he doesn't say anything right away, but he takes a breath in and speaks quietly.

"Aren't you glad I took the tesserae now?"

My head snaps up, my eyes finding his. "How can you possibly say that?" I ask in disbelief. "How can you actually believe-"

"Posy," my mother interrupts. "Go to your room and get ready for school, all right?"

Posy looks at us, worry in her eyes, but she nods and heads off to her room. We're silent until we're sure she's out of hearing range. Rory's eyes are angry and firm, and as soon as he feels it's all right to start talking again, he does.

"If I hadn't, we'd all have even _less _to eat and Posy could still be sick! I might have saved her life!" Rory replies.

"Or maybe you haven't!" I fire back. _Maybe she's going to die anyway_, is what I'm thinking, but with Posy even having the slightest chance of overhearing, I couldn't possibly say that. It would scare her silly. "Maybe now you'll get reaped and maybe _you'll_ die."

"It was worth the risk," is all Rory says. Mother shakes her head.

"Rory, I've been trying to be calm about this, since you can't undo it, but Gale's right. It was foolish of you. The food we received wasn't even all edible."

"Maggots," Vick says suddenly, surprising all of us. "Our wheat had _maggots_ in it."

I don't believe Rory actually has the nerve to say it, but he shrugs, trying to act like he doesn't care. "Protein," he suggests. "The perfect part of a balanced meal."

My mother looks angry at first, like she wants to slap him. Out mother has never hit any of us, but her hand is raised in the air, ready to strike him. Rory flinches back, but Mother puts her hand down and looks away, almost ashamed of herself.

"Why are you all so upset?" Rory finally forces out. "I was only doing what I thought was right. My decision doesn't hurt any of you! The only one it affects in a negative way could _possibly_ be me, but I'm not worried about it and you shouldn't be either."

"Don't be stupid," I reply. "If you get Reaped, it's going to affect all of us."

"We'd miss you," Vick says quietly.

"Not only that!" My voice is dangerously rising in volume, and now I know I can't stop it: Rory's going to get the argument that he wanted days ago. "We need you as a part of this family, whether you want to believe it or not. Eventually you're going to have to go work in the mines and get paid, because just me and Mom working isn't cutting it just now!" I exclaim.

Rory says firmly, "I don't want to work in the mines."

"So? Who does? I never did. I still don't," I say, but my voice has softened. I'm thinking about my woods, my beautiful woods, the ones I'll never be able to go into again. Once again I'm reminded of how unfair the entire system is. I should have been a hunter. That's what I'm good at. I should have the opportunity to do what I love, but that's been taken away, and it's stupid to reminisce on what used to be. Right now all that's important is keeping my family alive.

"I do," Vick says. I'm so startled by this declaration that at first I feel like I've forgotten what he's replying to.

"You do, what?" I ask blankly.

"I want to work in the mines." I just stare at him. This is the first time I've heard about this from him. Of course, there _are_ some people who do like mining, but I would never have imagined Vick to be among them. I quickly decide it's not worth worrying about.

"That's great, but not really important right now," I say bluntly. "We're talking about Rory."

"All I wanted to do was help," he defends. "You risked your life for us countless times. Stop being overprotective and let me do my share!"

"I risked my life for you, so you wouldn't have to!" I say loudly, angry again. I can't help it; no one can push my buttons quite like Rory can. "You've succeeded, in a single moment of utter stupidity, to make every thing I've done for the past SIX YEARS completely unnecessary and useless! You were supposed to stay _safe."_

"Boys," my mother warns, her voice sounding unusually frightened. When we argue we never yell, since we can never know who might overhear our treasonous conversations. But today, both of our voices are rising, dangerously high.

"Well maybe I _want_ to risk my life!" Rory bellows. "I disagree with the Capitol maybe even _more_ than you do, but you expect me to just go along with them and be a- a good little boy!" His expression turns dark and he lowers his voice, but I don't think it's because he's worried about someone hearing him. "And I'm telling you now: Don't count on it."

Rory pushes his chair away from the table and it grates against the hard floor. I flinch at the unnatural sound it makes, and he just smirks at me, and then stalks off to his room.

There's silence once again, and I look down at the table, ashamed. I've totally blown it, and I instantly want to apologize, but that's not going to happen. I know I'm right. Rory shouldn't have been so stupid.

"He has a point, you know," says Vick quietly as he stands up, taking his plate and bringing it to the sink. "You can't always be the hero."

"I never said I-" I interject, not believing that Vick is actually taking Rory's side.

"I know you didn't," he says calmly. "But you didn't need to be so harsh on him. He was just doing what he thought was best." And with that, he walks away quietly, remarkably composed. This makes me feel even guiltier than I had been feeling, which previously I didn't think was possible.

My mother and I are sitting at the table now, and I'm too upset to say anything other than, "I should get going. Don't want to be late for work."

My mother nods. "I love you. Be safe."

"I'll try." I respond, but I know that it's pointless. I have no control over the situation, and we all know it.

When I arrive at the West entrance to the mine, there are two people already waiting for me, looking impatient. I'm maybe five minutes late, and I already know that today is very likely to be a disaster.

"Gale! You're back!" Says one of them. He's a miner, like me, just taller, thinner, and with a more angular face. Other than that, he and I could have been brothers. I _think_ of him as a brother, even though he's a few years older than me.  
"Thom," I greet warmly. I grasp his hand and we shake, both of us smiling. It really is good to see him. His name is Thom Blackwood, and he and Bristel Bigby (the other man with him) are two members of my mining crew. Other than Katniss, I would say they're my best friends, although our relationship isn't anything like what I have (had?) with Katniss. For one thing, neither of them has ever gone hunting with me, and for another, I'm not in love with either of them. Thankfully.

Bristel reaches to give me a hug, but at the last second remembers my injury and draws back, a slightly subdued look on his face. He's slightly shorter than I am, but he's extremely muscular and always looks like he's worried about something. I don't blame him, since he usually is, but today I'm a little annoyed by this. I don't want any more worry or pity. I just want to work and try to forget about the argument I had with Rory. And just about everyone else in my family.

"Does it… still hurt?" Bristel asks, a little awkwardly. I let out a sigh of annoyance, but answer him as honestly as I can.

"A little."

There is a pregnant pause- and I have to say I'm getting sick of all the awkwardness- and Thom finally breaks the silence.

"And it's going to be a whole lot more painful if Aspen finds out that we're late." Briar Aspen is the Director of Mining and Natural Resources, which is really just a fancy way of saying he's in charge of making sure the miners are worked to the bone. He is free to give out punishments and rewards, and even to dock pay, but he's a pretty fair man. Aspen usually won't punish someone unless they actually deserve it, but he never lets anyone take it easy. And he _hates_ it when people show up late.

I laugh, trying to sound light-hearted and force all of my anxiety out of my system. "You're right, of course. We ought to get going."

They nod and stand on either side of me, walking next to me and matching my pace almost like they're trying to guard me or protect me or-

I understand what they're doing instantly and stop walking, looking at them as they stop too.

"Don't do this. Please." I say.

"Don't do what?" Thom asks, trying to sound like he doesn't have a clue what I'm talking about. I just stare at him for a moment, begging with my eyes.

"Please don't try to guard me. I don't need to be protected, I'm not going to get hurt while I work, and I'm not going to get in trouble. I'm just going to do my work like a good little citizen and go home. I swear." I say flatly. "I don't need you two being my watch dogs."

Neither of them denies my accusation, and their silence confirms it.

"Hey," Thom says. "We're not doing anything we wouldn't want you to do for us."

"We're not trying to be overbearing or anything, but we just really, _really_ don't want you to pass out in the middle of the job and then get yourself or someone else hurt." Bristel adds, looking worried. Like usual.

The three of us walk into the main building above ground, where we get our tools and have to clock in. Usually it's pretty empty because different crews clock in at different locations, and our crew only consists of twenty people. It's all we need right now, because we're just setting up new timbers in a part of the tunnels that collapsed a few weeks ago. Luckily, no one got hurt, but digging out a tunnel is always hard work, sometimes even harder than the actual mining itself.

Today though, the building has a new occupant- a heavily armed Peacekeeper, who suddenly doesn't look so peaceful.

"You're late," he growls.

I start to answer, but Bristel puts a hand on my arm to silence me and says, "I'm so sorry, sir, we didn't mean to be."

The Peacekeeper is obviously fairly new to this job and he puffs up proudly at the use of the word 'sir'. He must be one of the men at the bottom of the food chain. I feel his pain.

It's unusual, because he doesn't seem like a typical, top-of-the-line Peacekeeper. He actually seems _human_ to me, and I can't decide if it's just a charade or if he actually has a conscience. I guess all the blood-thirsty Peacekeepers are needed in more important places than the entrance to the least used Tunnels of the mines. Which seems stupid, to me. If the government is going to govern by fear, they can't ever let up, not even in the least important places. One person without fear could lead to an entire district without fear, and that is the easiest path to a rebellion.

Not that I'm thinking about it, or anything.

He can't seem to decide whether or not to discipline us for being late, so he says, "I'm going to have to report you."

Bristel nods, his expression _just_ obedient enough to please the guard. "We understand, sir, but please, we weren't trying to be late and if we're late, sir, they'll dock our pay and we need that money, sir. But, you're right. We _do_ deserve to be punished, sir."

Bristel's attitude seems to surprise the guard, because he takes a double take of our group. Thom and I are trying to look as pitiful as we can, and apparently it works because the Peacekeeper nods.

"I like the respect, boy. What's your name again?"

"Bristel Bigby, sir."

The Peacekeeper looks at us thoughtfully and nods again. "I'm impressed, Bigby. Go on in. I won't report you or your friends."

"Thank you, sir!" Bristel says, as we walk into the shaft that leads to the Tunnel we're working on today. The elevator doors close, and there is a brief moment of silence before all three of us burst out laughing. The laughter is almost unnecessary, and it doesn't make much sense. There's no reason for us to be so hysterical other than the fact that we're relieved that we didn't get into trouble.

"Could you have said 'sir' anymore times?" I finally ask, teasing him. I'm glad we had that particular Peacekeeper, because I can guarantee that it wouldn't have worked on anyone else.

"You might as well have gotten down on your knees and kissed his feet," Thom chuckles. Bristel's only response is to sniff indignantly and say, "Maybe I will next time."

His wounded expression sets us off again, and it feels great. It's been weeks since I've laughed this hard, and it's strange because the joke isn't even that funny. I'm just relieved that we didn't get reported. A report would not bode well for me, especially not on my first day back.

I'm still laughing as the elevator sinks into the ground, and blackness surrounds our group. There are lights in the elevator, but there's a sort of artificial lighting that doesn't seem to extend far. It's obvious to me, at least, that everything outside of the elevator is black.

I start to say something, but as I lean forward, still buckling on my tool belt, a stinging pain slides along my back and stabs into me. I barely keep a cry in, but my entire body tenses and I can tell that Bristel and Thom can tell that I'm in pain.

Bristel looks at me, concerned, all traces of laughter gone. "Gale? Gale. Are you okay?"

The real answer is 'no.' But at this moment here in the mining shaft, I know that I need a better answer. "No" won't feed my family. I choke down all of the protests I want to make and nod once, weakly.

"I'll live." I respond. Both Thom and Bristel are staring at me strangely, like they're worried I might collapse at any moment. I suddenly realize this concern isn't all that far-fetched. The problem with it, is that if I collapse, I get sent home. No work, no pay. No pay, no food.

"That's all we ask," Thom says lightly. Bristel glares at him from behind me.

I'm standing in the middle of them, again, and they're both standing ridiculously close to me, almost so they could catch me if I actually do fall. I'm a little grateful, but mostly annoyed.

"Guys. I appreciate the thought, but really, I'll be fine." The two of them exchange a glance, and Bristel shakes his head.

"Better safe than sorry, mate. If you fall down here, you'll die."

"And if you die, your mother will kill _us_." adds Thom, but he doesn't sound all that concerned. He's just trying to lighten the mood, but it's not working. Once again, as usual.

"I'm not going to die," I reply.

"That's what your father thought," Bristel says quietly. If this comment had come from anyone else, I would have been offended that they had even mentioned my father. But when Bristel says it, I know that he's not trying to be insulting. He understands me, in some ways, even better than Katniss does, because he has to face my same horror every day.

His mother died in childbirth, and his father followed soon after, in a mining accident. A kind family took him in, but he's gone through the majority of his life half-starved, and over-worked. Bristel's a worrier by nature, and the fact that he has to work where his father died makes his pessimism far worse.

Thom, on the other hand, is a completely different story. He never knew either of his parents, but grew up his entire life in a State Home for orphans, where he had to face brutal beatings and other horrors, _every day_. While the other kids emerged from the home beat down and broken, Thom had a different way of facing things- he became happy. His unusual optimism tends to unnerve people, including me at first, but after a while, people have to get used to it.

It's strange that Bristel and Thom would be friends, but they're kinder than almost any other people that I know. And in the mines, there's no one I'd rather work with.

"My father's case was different," I reply stonily. "He was wrong. I won't be."

Bristel looks almost apologetic, but I ignore this, and the elevator opens creakily into the heart of the mine.

I look at my two friends, take a deep breath, and step out into the darkness.

Immediately loud noises surround us, and the sounds of people already mining reach my ears. There's a whistling sound, and I can't help it: I tense up, as if waiting for a whip to strike me.

When I realize that there _is_ no whip, I look up at Bristel and Thom a little sheepishly. They're observing me with puzzled expressions, and when the whistling sound repeats, they seem to understand in an instant, because comprehension shines on their faces.

They look at each other, nod, and take up their positions on either side of me, staring back at the workers who are staring at me so fixatedly. I am feeling incredibly self conscious, because so many of the miners are watching me, all seeming to understand who I am and what I've done. It's strange. I think I liked anonymity better.

We walk down the narrow passages, smoke and dust floating in the black air in front of us.

"Where are we working today?" I ask, partially because I honestly need to know, and partly because I want to distract myself from looking at all of the men who are currently staring at me, some of them even pausing in their work to watch me.

I don't like it.

"Tunnel 3-21A," Bristel replies as we walk forward, carefully treading our way on the narrow, dark path to our destination.

When we reach the correct tunnel, we have to stop walking, because it's a dead end. It was one of the more recently collapsed sections of the mine, and it's our job to dig it out and set up the new timbers, because this tunnel led to an extremely rich seam of coal.

The mines are actually where the term "the Seam" came from. When miners run into a vein of coal, they call it a seam, and District 12 didn't become the district in charge of mining for no reason. In fact, just outside of the _town_ "the Seam" there are many _seams_ of coal.

And goodness knows we can't let any precious coal go to waste. What would the Capitol do without their precious coal? They'd have precious little electricity (coal's not the ONLY way they get it, but it is the main source of energy.) They'd have no heat, nothing. All the other districts would suffer too.

You can't have factories without electricity, which would put at least Districts one and eight out of commission. District three is too far north, and they always need heat. District ten is too far south, and they always need some form of air conditioning. Yes, maybe some places could survive without us, but they'd be uncomfortable at least. If we stopped mining, at _least_ four districts would be in major, major trouble.

So while mining is important, I, personally, have seen far too many awful things happen to miners to consider our job worthwhile. Who cares if the other districts can't provide for themselves? Every cent made off of mining is, in my eyes, blood money.

There is a group of miners gathered together, listening to a tall, weathered looking man speak. It's Samuel Youngberg, our crew leader, and he's giving out directions for the day's work. Thom, Bristel and I join the circle of men, standing in the outer ring.

"Hey, Gale, good to have you back," whispers a man to me. I nod at this, smiling, but don't reply. We all turn to Sam and listen to him talk.

"All right, we're going to start by digging out as much of this tunnel as we can, at least a good ten yards in. Once we've cleared up as much as we can, we need to start setting up the timbers. The ones we could salvage are in Tunnel 3-20B, so three men to a timber should do it. Right now though, I need all hands on the hammer."

He means that everyone needs to be working on digging out the tunnel, but whether we'll do it with shovels or jackhammers, remains to be seen. In some parts of the tunnel, the dirt should be soft enough, but in other parts it's going to be far too difficult to dig out with just our natural strength.

I'm worried because it doesn't matter which we use, it's still going to be a strain on me.

But I turn and get my tools, starting to dig with the rest of my crew. The rhythmic pounding on the hard rock is hypnotizing, and numbing at the same time. I'm favoring my back, being as careful as I possibly can, but after working for almost an hour straight with little movement other than swinging a shovel, my back is sore.

I've just taken a momentary rest to wipe the sweat of my face, one foot and one hand leaning on my shovel, when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Gale."

I turn around and look, pleasantly surprised to see Sam there. He's sort of turned into my surrogate father over the years. I've known him since long before I joined the mines, and he's actually the reason I got assigned to this particular crew. He was a very good friend of my father's, and he requested me to work for him, as a favor to my father. I guess I'll always be grateful to him, because he's turned mining into something I can handle.

"I'm glad you're finally well," he says, keeping his voice quiet. "Well, better, at least," he corrects.

"Thanks," I reply. "It's just _great_ to be back." I know I shouldn't be joking about it, but I can't honestly say that I missed the mines. I just missed the income.

Sam laughs as I roll my eyes. "Come on, you know you missed going to work!"

"Yeah, I definitely missed the dirt, grime, bad air, hard work, long days, and no sleep," I reply, my voice quiet but sarcastic. I have to be careful when I'm talking like this, because I have no way of telling who overhears me and who doesn't. If anyone turns me in now for saying treasonous things, I'm fairly certain that Thread wouldn't even give me a "trial" this time. I'd just be dead.

Sam's expression becomes dark and serious as he shakes his head. "You need to be more careful now," he tells me, his grey eyes stormy. "Not everyone thinks that what happened to you is a tragedy," he clarifies.

I raise my eyebrows questioningly, letting my gaze slip to some of the men who are still digging. They're already covered in dirt and appear to be sweating black, from the heat and the dirt. It's only an hour into working, and already all of the miners are tired. Most of them probably didn't have enough to eat in the first place, and now it's even worse. They're living- and dying- on starvation rations. There's even a dull ache in my stomach from lack of food, but I force myself to ignore it and listen to what Sam is telling me. His voice pulls my eyes back to him.

"Lucien Allsbright has been _quite_ vocal about how he feels about your punishment," Sam whispers. "And I'm only telling this to you now so you won't deck him when he says it to your face-" I can't stop a tiny smile from coming to my face when he says this, he knows me far too well- "but he's essentially claimed that you deserved what happened, and that you shouldn't have been hunting at all."

"What?! He bought my game just as much as anyone else did-"

"I know, I know," Sam says hurriedly. "We all know that. But it's not the worst of it. He also claimed that you should have died, and that anyone who disagrees with that is as a good as a traitor in his eyes. That if the other miners don't look down on you, they should be punished for the same thing you were, because he believes that your crime was what caused the harsher laws. The famine. The crack down."

I'm staring at Sam in shock. "That has to be the most flawed logic I've ever heard," I begin, but Sam cuts me off again.

"Yeah, but the problem is, a lot of the miners don't care about logic. They're scared enough of the Capitol already, and Lucien knows how to prey on their fears. He also knows they're scared of him, because he has flat out declared that he'll turn in any other traitors, and he hopes they get the same punishment as you. If not worse."

I have a hard time trying to find the right words to explain what I'm trying to say. "Are we sure this guy's from the Seam? 'Cause he's sounding an awful lot like a Peacekeeper to me," I manage to stutter out. I can't believe anyone seriously hates me that much. Allsbright has _never_ been mean to me, and I don't recall ever doing anything to him, other than selling him some of the food I'd gathered beyond the fence.

"Yeah, well, I'm just saying, be careful. Please. I'd be breaking every promise I ever made to your father if I let you die through your own hot-headedness."

"Contrary to just about _everyone's_ beliefs, I honestly have no intention of dying anytime in the near future," I say, sounding a bit exasperated. "And I'll try not to get in an argument with Lucien, but I can't make any promises."

Sam frowns at me. "Yes, you can. A lot of people don't agree with him, but in a place like the mines, it doesn't take much to make a noise. All you have to do is be loud. And Lucien is the loudest of them all," he says, his voice careful.

"Thanks. Warning noted," I reply, adjusting my grip on my shovel. Sam doesn't look entirely confident that what he's said has made a difference, but it has. I'm not stupid, and I have no intention of going out of my way to come to blows with Allsbright. I don't need more attention… but, I _do_ want to know exactly what the other miners think about what's going on in our district now, because I know that they can't all be fine with it. Miners are not exactly known for being "stalwart citizens," and I also know that some of them have been talking about rebellion for years, with every intention of actually having a revolution one day. I know this because my father used to be one of them, and I've gone to some of the 'meetings', usually held in a remote tunnel while we worked. I think Katniss thinks that all rumors of rebellion have been squashed… but I don't think so. If the other miners are anything like me- and they are- all of this suffering is going to make them long for an overthrow of power more than ever. And I think, with some help, it could work. It could really happen. So I am determined to find out.

For the rest of the day, while I'm working, I make my injury seem more bad than it really is. It _does_ hurt, but I play it up, pretending that I'm trying to not let everyone see how hurt I am.

"Gale, go ahead and take a break," One of them says, as I 'struggle' to lift a timber. I know this man to be the father of three children, all very young. I shake my head and force out a, "no thanks, sir."

He looks at me with a strange expression on his face, partly between admiration and pity. "If you're sure," he says. When we have the large pole lifted off the ground, he leans forward and says quietly, "you're doing great." I don't respond to this, but he adds, "What happened was awful. You didn't deserve it."

I smile to myself. There's potential here.

I get mixed responses, but mostly they're like that. Words of encouragement, short rest periods offered to me, even a few words of disgust towards the Peacekeepers and especially towards Thread. They're not all about me, either. Some of them are about the fact that Ripper was actually put in the stocks, or that other people getting arrested and punished for breaking laws that no one even remembered where illegal. But all day, I hear- whether directed towards me or not- words of contention and dissatisfaction, and I know automatically that I have to do something about it.

Of course, not everyone is friendly towards me. Lucien Allsbright actually managed to convince some _morons_ that my arrest was the deciding factor in the new weapons in the town square, and they spend the majority of the day trying to trip me and insult me. I spend the majority of the day trying to refrain myself from seriously injuring them.

One slight problem is that by the end of the mid-day shift, (it starts at about seven in the morning and ends around five in the evening) I've had no breakfast or lunch, and at some point my fake pains have become real. Bristel and Thom have to help me hobble into the elevator, were I promptly lean against them just so I won't tip over. I'm breathing heavily, and I'm feeling incredibly stiff.

"Maybe you should have listened to us," Thom suggests.

"Should have taken it easy. You were working as hard as anyone else," Bristel adds. "And that was pretty stupid."

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to be _you_ tomorrow morning," Thom laughs, whistling. "That's going to _hurt._"

"Maybe… I should see Mrs. Everdeen about it," I murmur to myself. I don't think either of them can understand what I'm saying. I'm feeling very, very strange, and when the world starts to turn sideways on me, I begin to fall.

Thom and Bristel catch me, careful not to touch my back. They're supporting my shoulders, holding me up the best they can. My vision is blurring slightly and I try to get my head to clear. What's wrong with me? I haven't hurt at all, not until now, anyway.

"All right, mate, maybe you should stay home tomorrow," Thom says to me. Or at least, I think that's what he says. It's hard to tell.

"No," I protest. They ignore me, so I say it louder. This time it actually makes it past my lips. I try to stand up and just end up getting dizzier. "Just- take me to the Everdeen's house. They'll know what to do," I say. It comes out sounding like "Juhtaymeto theverdeeshous. Theylno whattadooo."

Thankfully, they understand what I mean, and manage to get me to Katniss's house without causing undue damage to me or themselves.

I can stand a little, but mostly they are what are keeping me on my feet. I don't know why I'm suddenly feeling like this. My back is on fire, my limbs stiff, my head feeling somehow both heavy and light at the same time. It weighs a ton, but I'm feeling almost like I could float away.

Thom and Bristel are pounding on the door with one hand each. I can hear the door creak open.

"Mrs. Everdeen!" I think it's Bristel that's talking.

"What happened?" she demands. I can't see her face, but I imagine she has a concerned scowl on her face, the same expression I see so often from Katniss.

"It was his first day back in the mines, ma'am," says Thom. "He overworked himself."

"Can you… can you help him?" Bristel asks worriedly.

Mrs. Everdeen's voice sounds very flustered to me, but maybe I'm just hearing things. My vision comes back to focus momentarily and I can see her turn her head down the hall for a quick moment, almost like someone's in the house with her.

Katniss?

I let myself feel a momentary hope, even now realizing how pathetic I am. I came here to heal, but all I really want is to see her. It's been ages since I've talked with her, really talked, and I'm worried that maybe I'll never get the chance again.

"Yes, I can. Of course." I think she's talking to someone else, because what she says next doesn't really make any sense to me. "Would you mind? I'm needed right now, so just sit down, make yourself at home. I'm sure that she'll be home shortly. After all," she laughs a little, almost sounding nervous, "she _is_ in the market. And she hates to shop, so she's probably on her way home right now."

Who is she talking to? The only person I can think of that hates to shop is Katniss, but who'd be asking about her?

"Come on in. Set him down in the living room," says Mrs. Everdeen to Thom and Bristel. They help me walk into the room and force me to sit down on the couch. My head is spinning.

"Feel better," Bristel says quietly.

"Don't even think about coming to work tomorrow," Thom teases. But his eyes are worried.

"I won't," I mumble, but the truth is, I'll be there. I couldn't handle any more bed rest.

"Thom, Bristel, can I talk to you out in the hall?" Mrs. Everdeen asks. They nod and leave the room, following her silently.

Only once they're gone do I realize that whoever Mrs. Everdeen had been talking to earlier is sitting in the living room with me.

There are actually two of them, and at first I don't trust my eyes. I blink, and when my sight focuses, there they are. Still.

Not a hallucination.

I can only wonder what stupid thing Katniss has done this time. I can't even get myself to respond at first.

Because sitting there, on the couch directly across from me, are two Peacekeepers. And they don't look happy.


	5. Chapter 5

I barely have time to gather my thoughts. All I know for sure is that for some unknown reason, there is a pair of Peacekeepers, a man and a woman, glaring at me, and I'm trying not to panic.

I know they're not here for me, but my heart is speeding up out of anxiety. One thing keeps running through my mind, over and over again. _There's two of them and only one of me. I'm dead._

Logically, this doesn't make any sense. For the first time in almost my entire _life_, I haven't actually broken any laws, so there's no reason why they'd want me. Also, I'm at Katniss's house. If _I_ were in trouble, they'd be waiting for me at home. Not at my best friend's home.

Neither of them says anything to me, mostly because I don't think they realize that I'm perfectly conscious. For the first time, I'm glad I have an excuse for having a fuzzy mind. I wouldn't have the slightest idea what to do if I was expected to make polite conversation with them.

The man and the woman are sitting silently, but the way the man keeps glancing at the woman makes me think that the woman is really the one in charge here.

Thankfully, I'm spared from thinking of what to do because Mrs. Everdeen walks into the room again, walking over to me and kneeling down on the ground by my side.

"Can you stand up?" she asks.

"Yeah, I think so," I offer. She grabs one of my arms and helps me to my feet. The Peacekeepers continue staring at us, not saying anything. It's eerie.

"All right, Thom and Bristel told me what happened. But I need you to take off your shirt so I can check up on your back," she prompts.

I shoot a look at the figures in white, who are showing no signs of moving. I don't want to undress in front of them. Not a chance.

My eyes jump to Mrs. Everdeen, who doesn't seem the least bit troubled that the Peacekeepers are sitting there, watching. I'm trying to plead to her with my eyes, trying my hardest to explain to her without actually speaking that taking my shirt off in front of them is possibly the most embarrassing thing I could possibly do. It was _their_ fault, in a way, and I can't let them see the damage. I don't want _anyone_ to see my back, much less two people who I might consider my enemies. There was only one Peacekeeper I would have even _considered_ letting see my scars, and unfortunately that particular person (Darius) hasn't been seen since my… accident. I can't help but wonder if his disappearance is because of me.

Scratch that. I don't need to wonder. I know I'm the cause of this mess. I guess what I really want to know is… where Darius _is._ If he's in trouble because he tried to save my life, that is entirely my fault.

But Mrs. Everdeen ignores my silent protests. "Your shirt," she says, her tone calm but firm.

I scowl at her quickly, but wipe the expression off of my face as quickly as I can. "Fine, Aunt Lantana," I say through gritted teeth. I figure the Peacekeepers will recognize me at any moment, so I might as well act the part. After all, I _am_ supposedly related to the family.

I am currently in the process of lifting my filthy shirt over my head, so I can't physically see their reactions, but the woman speaks up.

"What's your name, boy?"

I don't answer right away. My back is facing away from them, so they can't see any evidence of my identity, and I drop my shirt onto the ground. Mrs. Everdeen coughs and gently pushes on my shoulder.

"Turn, please." she murmurs quietly.

I look at the woman Peacekeeper. "Gale Hawthorne," I say, and turn around.

I don't really know if they'll even react to my patch-worked back, so I'm not surprised when they don't.

I _am_ surprised, though, when I can feel Mrs. Everdeen's cold fingers lightly brushing against my back, examining the damage, checking to see if I've ripped any of it open. I'm trying not to gasp out loud. It hurts, a little, but mostly I'm just worried about why these two people are here.

Mrs. Everdeen makes her diagnosis and commands me to wait where I am while she starts to rub some salve onto my back.

"That looks like it hurts," says the woman, but there's not really any emotion in her voice. It's sort of an offhand comment, and I would have her expected to comment on the weather in much the same tone.

I would shrug if I thought I could move my shoulders, but since I can't, all I say is "sometimes."

If she expected me to confess to being in excruciating agony, she is sadly mistaken. She doesn't say anything, but the man finally does.

"Head Peacekeeper Thread has a message he'd like us to pass on to you."

I don't say anything, but breathe in sharply as Mrs. Everdeen pokes at a particularly sore area. The man must take my silence as permission to keep talking, because he does so.

"From now on, the electricity on the fence will be kept on, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."

So Thread _does_ remember me. _It'd be hard to forget the criminal that blindly tried selling his wares to the head of security, _I remind myself, once again cursing my stupidity.

"Which means that no one can get into the woods," adds the man, rather bluntly. Does he honestly think that I'm lacking so much intelligence that I need to have that spelled out for me?

I smile a little at the wall, deciding that I'm going to milk this underestimation for all that it's worth.

"You mean, people actually go past the fence? But- but that's dangerous!" My tone is innocently shocked, and I can't tell if they're buying my charade or not. I don't think the woman is, but the man clearly thinks I'm a rustic imbecile. I decide I don't care if they believe me or not. I'm keeping it up.

"Not 'go'. Went." The woman corrects me harshly. I wince a little at the past tense- maybe I really _won't_ ever hunt again- but I keep playing stupid.

"Why would anyone want to leave the District, anyway? Out beyond the fence isn't _safe_," I say earnestly. "There are all those wild animals. They eat people, I thought."

"You don't have to worry about them anymore. They're stuck on the other side," the woman intones coldly.

"And so's anything else that was stupid enough to go over there," sniggers the man.

And suddenly, it all makes sense. I know why they're here.

Who misses the woods as much as I do? Katniss. Who has probably more stress in her life than I do? Katniss. And who would have the audacity and idiocy to go past the fence when security all throughout the district has been raised? Only Katniss!

Part of me wants to curse her for being so foolish, but part of me wishes she had told me she was going. I would have gone with her, even if it was only for a little while.

But maybe there was a reason she didn't tell me. My entire body goes cold as my mind locks on the only reason that makes sense.

Maybe she didn't tell me because it was too dangerous for me to know. Maybe she didn't tell me because of the argument we had earlier, at the lake house. Maybe she changed her mind and decided to run away with Peeta, past the fence, through the woods, and out of Panem, into the wild, the once place where she truly could be free. Free to die, or starve, or freeze, but at least she'd be doing it on her own terms.

It's all I can do not to run out of the room. I want to find her, or at least find Peeta to see if he really went with her. I know for sure that Katniss is past the fence. What I _don't _know, though, is if she's coming back. And that's the part that scares me the most.

If she _does_ intend on coming back, she's going to be in serious trouble. In the past, she and I have gotten stuck on the other side of the fence many times in the past, but they were never for very long. We'd wait out the burst of electricity until the fence turned off, then sneak back home. It was never a big deal.

But now, if the electricity really is going to be on at all times, then Katniss is in danger. She'll be stuck over there, with no way to return without getting caught by Peacekeepers. It'd be better for her if she actually is running from the District. Although, I have a very hard time convincing myself that that's the best option, because it means she's with _Peeta._

It's painful for me to even think his name. I don't want it to be true, but at the same time I know that's the only option for Katniss to stay, well, relatively safe.

"Well, that's relieving. It's good to know the government cares about our safety." I say. I can feel their glares practically penetrating through my skin. If looks could kill… I wouldn't be _able_ to worry about Katniss anymore.

Mrs. Everdeen seems to understand that this was NOT a smart thing for me to say, because she starts treating me with more energy than ever, actually making me groan in complaint.

"Lift up your arms and turn back around," she instructs me. I can't tell if she realizes what this means for Katniss or not, I hardly ever know what's going through her mind. I follow her commands, lifting my arms a little so she can wrap bandages around my entire torso. She pulls extra tight though, almost like she's trying to hurt me, which is strange, even for her.

"Ow, _Aunt._ That _hurts._" I growl at her through gritted teeth.

She looks up at me, smiles a little. "I'm _terribly_ sorry, Gale." But she doesn't say anything after that, at least not to me. She addresses the two Peacekeepers. "Are you sure you want to stay here? Because Katniss might be a while, since she's still out shopping. It'd probably be easiest for you if you left and returned when she's actually present." Her mouth twists into a worried frown.

"It's kind of you to worry about our comfort, but we'll be fine right here," says the woman, without expression. The man, though, can't seem to hide a smug, satisfied smirk. I start to scowl (it's the expression that comes easiest to me now) but get rid of it before it even fully appears.

"All right, but you might be here for a while," Mrs. Everdeen repeats.

"Yeah, she doesn't really have a curfew," I laugh, trying my hardest to sound natural. I decide that being happy will _never_ be natural for me and my smile drops a few notches. "Katniss doesn't like to stay at home very much."

"You're very close to her?" asks the woman, sounding almost off-hand. I am about to answer when something in her voice makes me shoot a glance at her. There is something in her tone that doesn't sound simply polite. She's dangerous, and I have to watch everything I say around her. After all, the President could make good on his threat to have me executed at any moment, and the Peacekeepers would greatly influence that decision. And death isn't really a desirable condition.

"Well, she _is_ my cousin," I reply.

The man looks at the woman and snickers a little, a snide comment slipping from his mouth. "District 12 is a pretty backwards place," he murmurs quickly.

I don't understand what he means by this, and he seems to recognize my confusion, so he elaborates.

"You know, _outside_ District 12, cousins generally aren't… romantically involved."

I immediately tense up. I knew that the President knew about my love for Katniss, but I wasn't aware it was such common knowledge. Maybe it was just a lucky guess? I don't react.

"They're not, not in this district, either." I respond quietly. At least, not real cousins.

Mrs. Everdeen coughs loudly and stands up, speaking with too much energy in her voice. "All right, Gale, we're done here. You're all patched up now!" She beams at me, and continues talking. I know what she's trying to do, and it's not really working. Changing the topic won't change what the Peacekeepers have said. "I know it's useless asking you to stay home from work tomorrow-"

"Darn right it is," I mutter.

"-so, I'm just going to ask that you take it easy. Don't overstress yourself, and you should start coming to my house after your shift is over so I can make sure that your back is healing properly. We wouldn't want another episode like today's. And, if you have any unusual or extreme pain, have someone take you over here _immediately._ All right?"

"Yes ma'am," I reply. She and I head to the door of her house, leaving the Peacekeepers sitting there. As I walk out of the room, I just barely catch a snippet of what the woman is whispering to her partner.

"Mr. Abernathy… Mellark… come here…"

I wince a little at this. If Katniss really _has_ run away, the Peacekeepers won't find anyone at Peeta's home and will instantly understand what has happened. And then we'll _all_ be in trouble.

"Thanks for everything," I say sincerely, pulling my 'aunt' into a loose sort of hug. As soon as we are embracing, she whispers hastily into my ear.

"Do you know where she is?"

Mrs. Everdeen doesn't have to explain what she means. "No, I'm sorry."

She lets out a breathy sigh into my ear. "I'll let you know when she gets home." Her voice sounds worried, but I don't know what I can do to help her.

"Thanks," I repeat. "Don't worry. She'll be back."

Maybe it's a bad idea for me to act so confident about it. Maybe I am jinxing everything. But for some reason, I honestly don't think so. Katniss promised me she would stay… and so, I'm pretty positive she will return as soon as she can.

I leave the house, a little uncomfortable with leaving Mrs. Everdeen alone with the Peacekeepers. But I don't know what else to do. Mrs. Everdeen can take care of herself. And Katniss _will_ come back.

Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I'll actually believe it.

When I finally reach my home, it's getting dark outside. I push open the door gently and walk inside, noticing that the house is unusually quiet.

"Hello?" I call cautiously. I am starting to get worried when my gaze falls on the table by the hearth. My mother is sitting in a chair, her head resting on her arms tiredly. She's asleep, and I can't help but smile a little at this. She always looks so happy when she's sleeping. I personally believe that everyone looks younger when they're not awake, and my mother is no exception. For a moment, I can picture the woman she used to be before my father died, and I feel a little wistful. I wish she could be happier. Her life shouldn't have to be so hard.

I kiss her forehead gently and cross the room to the hallway. Then I go and check on Posy, who, from what I can tell, is asleep in her bed, cradled against the wall. She has a small smile on her lips and is murmuring softly in her sleep. I walk over to her bed, and sit next to her, playing with her hair gently.

Posy turns over so her back is facing me, and her eyes flutter open. I can't tell if I woke her up, or if she had been awake the whole time.

"Gale?" She murmurs. She still can't say her L's very well, so my name comes out sounding like it has a W in the middle of it.

"Hey, honey," I say quietly. Posy nuzzles up against me and coughs a little.

"Not Honey. I'm Posy!"

A smile rises to my lips. "Are you sure? Because I think Honey fits you better. You're just as sweet!" And I poke at her, tickling her until she starts giggling.

"You're silly." Her eyes are closing again, like she's about to fall asleep, and I can tell I need to get going. But even though she's dead serious, I can't help but want to laugh. When someone can't pronounce L's, 'silly' is a pretty difficult word to say.

"You're right. I'm silly. Of course. Now, go to bed. I love you," I say as she buries herself back into the covers.

"Love you too." And Posy's eyes shut all the way, and I can tell that she's asleep.

I head back to the doorway, and just look at her. Even through the thin shirt she's wearing, I can see how small and skinny she is. Five year olds aren't supposed to have already lost all of their baby fat, but Posy's little face is gaunt and thin.

I love my little sister so much. Anyone would have to be insane not to. And once again I wonder how the Capitol justifies everything they're doing. How they justify killing small, innocent children like Posy. How they can possibly think that starving people until they're so hungry that the very concept of a full stomach is a fantasy is alright. The smile drops from my face and I close the door, walking to my brothers' and my room, suddenly feeling very sober. I need to speak to Rory, to apologize to him.

The door to the room that he, Vick, and I share is closed, and for a moment I'm tempted to just walk away. But I don't. I _need_ to talk to my brothers. Maybe they can even help me with my plan.

I open the door and walk in.

Vick is sprawled out on the floor, a textbook in front of him open to a page in the middle, and he's reading it tiredly.

Rory is lounging on the bed, tossing a stone up and down in his hands absentmindedly, almost looking bored.

When I open the door, both of them look up, watch me for a few seconds, and then go back to what they were doing before I walked inside.

"What took you so long?" Vick asks, his eyes still skimming the page.

"I had to stop at the Everdeens's. My back was acting up," I explain, sitting down on the bed next to Rory. "How was your day?" The question sounds forced, even to me, but I need to start a conversation _somehow_. Rory just ignores me, still throwing the rock, his eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling.

"It was all right, I guess," Vick answers. There is a moment of silence. "We have our field trip to the mines soon."

Every year the students in District 12 take a tour of the mines. I never liked the field trips very much. The mines were too confined, too dark, too boring. Katniss actually used to have panic attacks while we were in the elevator, and a few times she didn't even show up, pretending to be sick. I wish I could have done the same, but somehow my mother always knew when I was faking.

"That sounds fun," I offer.

"Not really." Rory finally says. He's rolling his eyes, the sarcasm literally dripping from him voice.

I study my little brother for a moment and then start talking. "Look, Rory, I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have been so… harsh."

"No," he agrees. "You shouldn't have." There is a moment where he seems to want to leave the conversation at that, but he talks again, hesitantly. "But… I'm, um, I'm sorry too. The tesserae wasn't even worth it. I thought I'd be able to help Posy but… that didn't work out very well, did it."

I don't answer. It's not necessary to tell him something he already knows. "You really need to understand that the only reason I was so upset was because I'm worried. Rory, this year is a Quarter Quell. The Games are going to be worse than ever and things are going to be bad. Mom's been killing herself to keep you safe, this year especially, and you don't even care."

He's not looking at the ceiling anymore. His eyes are on me now. "That's not true."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. I care. I care, a _lot._ That's why I got the stupid tesserae in the first place." he sounds sullen and sad. "It was probably stupid, but I already explained this to you. I'm just trying to pitch in. I never do anything for our family and you and Mom do all the work. It's not fair."

I don't respond. We've been over this many, many times before.

Vick just sighs. "I wish Dad was still alive."

Rory and I both turn and look at him, suddenly.

He looks a little guilty at first- our father is a forbidden subject- but then he shrugs a little self-consciously. "He would know what to do, that's all. He'd never have let any of this stuff happen."

"Dad wasn't superhuman, Vick." I say gruffly. "He couldn't have changed anything."

There is a moment of silence, then Rory says, "Yes he could have. He wanted to start a rebellion, remember? He used to talk about what he would do to change things around here. I wasn't that young, and I can remember some of it. I mean, I didn't understand it all, then, but I think I do now." He looks at me. "You said once that he had even started talking with some other miners about it. Do- do those people still want to rebel?"

I consider this, wondering if I should tell him what I know. Finally I nod. "Now more than ever," I respond quietly. "The problem is, no one really knows how to plan a revolution. We don't have a leader and that's a major issue."

Rory considers this. "Well, couldn't _we_ start it?"

I shake my head immediately. How did we even get on to this topic? My family _can't_ plan a rebellion. We're, well, we're my family! The Hawthornes break the law, yes, but we don't start uprisings. "No. No 'we'. Rory, you're thirteen. Maybe that's not a big deal to you, but to everyone else-"

"Not to the other kids," Vick says. "They're as upset as the adults. They're the ones in danger every year, after all."

I think through this. I can make up any excuse that I want, but I can't deny the truth behind what he's saying. There are so many teenagers that are annoyed with the way the government is run here in District 12, in all of Panem, that if we could get them to riot, we'd have a strong force. But they're _children_, and the Peacekeepers have no problem killing them. And I would have a problem with their deaths.

But. Even I can't deny the fact that the teenagers, the possible Tributes, will have the most to complain about. People die. Good people die every year, and for what? A reminder of a crushed rebellion. There had to have been a reason the first rebellion didn't work, and because of its failure, I'm inclined to be more careful so we don't make the same mistakes.

But I know that in order to actually start an uprising, risks have to be taken. If you play it safe, nothing will ever be accomplished. And since I already have a vague idea in my head of how to rebel, its my responsibility to put that plan into motion, now isn't it? If I can stop the Capitol's reign of terror in any way at all, I have to do what I can.

"Rory. Vick." I look at the two of them and am hit by a sudden moment of inspiration. "You want to start an uprising?"

Rory nods eagerly, and Vick just looks at me with large and wary eyes.

"Here's the thing. Three people will never be enough to rebel." I say plainly. It's obvious, but I need to remind them. "What we have to do is _recruit._ We're doing it down in the mines already. There are secret meetings, discussions, rumors and plans spread throughout the miners… but it's not enough. It'll never be enough. Unless we can get the students, the non-miners, the rich and the poor alike, our rebellion is doomed from the start. We have to be unified_,_ or this will never, never work, and I'm pretty sure the Capitol wouldn't have any problems destroying another Disctrict. We have to _plan_ before anything important can happen."

Rory's eyes are wide and sparkling. "Tell me what to do."

"Look. I'm not making any concrete decisions yet, not until I know what the general state of the District is. So… start asking around. Make sure you're quiet, careful, and vague about what you mean. Ask your friends, the older kids especially, how they feel about the system. Would they sincerely be willing to rebel? Make sure you take note of it. I can't promise anything- other than the fact that you two have to be careful. I'm already being watched, I think, so be extra safe and make sure nothing you say can be traced back to you. You _can't_ be stupid about this."

I turn to Rory. "You especially. You already have a reputation as a troublemaker." Is it just me or does Rory look a little proud at this? He's got half a smile on his lips, excitement in his eyes. "It's nothing to be proud of," I tell him. "It's dangerous, and if anyone takes more notice of you, you'll be punished. Maybe even killed. Just because you're thirteen doesn't mean you're invincible. And more than that, if you die, Mom would kill me."

He doesn't look phased by this in the slightest. "No one will notice, I promise."

"They better not. I don't want you dying because you made a stupid mistake. You're better than that, and Mom deserves more than all three of her sons being punished as criminals. And Vick- you especially. You're almost twelve, but that doesn't change the fact that you're still a kid and you probably shouldn't even be helping out."

He opens his mouth to protest, but I continue speaking. "So just be careful. I need your help but I don't need you to get caught. All right?"

Both he and Rory nod.

Is this how every revolution starts? In a bedroom amongst three teenage brothers, who are only planning it on a mere whim?

Somehow, I don't think so. I was under the impression that rebellions began in top secret, high-tech rooms with lots of angry adults.

But how would I know? Anyway, all the rebellions I personally have heard of have failed miserably. And maybe… maybe this one won't.

In the memory of my father, I hope it won't. This _has_ to work. My family can't survive this district much longer.

The days pass. The day after my conversation with Vick and Rory, Prim comes to our house while I'm at work and leaves a message that Katniss is home and okay, just with a broken leg and a bit of an electrical fence problem. I knew Katniss wouldn't run. I knew it.

I didn't think it was possible, but conditions at the mines get even _worse._ Before I know it, I'm working twelve hours a day, seven days a week, all of my life wasted away down in the deepest, darkest, most dangerous tunnels. It's like the government is upset that they didn't kill all of the miners when they had the chance, so they're making up for it now. There are more injuries and deaths than ever before, not from explosions or cave-ins, but simply from being worked to the bone. Two members of our crew have collapsed on the job, and Sam Youngberg's youngest daughter- she was seven- actually died from starvation. I met her, once. Sam loved her more than life itself.

And still, he had to come to work the next day or risk losing his job. He'd been working in the mines for almost twenty years, which normally would have warranted some respect. He should have had a grieving period, or at least some sympathy. But not anymore.

Things are changing in District 12 too quickly for anyone to make sense of it all. What could the Capitol possibly be trying to accomplish with these antics? If they wanted submission… well, they've already got that. The people of Twelve are scared out of their minds. They obey. They work. They do everything they're required to do.

And yet, despite all of this tragedy... rumors of rebellion have grown now more than ever. In the mines, that's all we talk about. When we work we don't converse, but during our very, very short breaks, we murmur to each other of what life used to be like. What life _could_ be like. How change needs to come.

Bristel, Thom, Sam and I are the most vocal of the miners when it comes to an uprising, but it's surprising how much the other miners are agreeing with us, wanting to hold meetings, to plan for a rebellion. Even Lucien Allsbright complains more, although he doesn't want a rebellion. He challenges us, announcing that the way to get the Capitol to back off is by simply obeying. If we do what they say, they'll leave us alone.

But most of us know better. They only way to get them to leave us alone is to tell them they _can't_ order us around anymore. It's our District, our lives, our families, our children, and we need to make sure they know we're _not_ their slaves. We deserve better.

I get to use my hunter's skills, finally, although I don't use them to gather food anymore. Instead, I'm using them to observe the Peacekeepers. Every chance I get, I watch them, listen to them, memorize their codes and procedures, schedules, names, ranks, anything I can, when I can hear them mentioning them. If there's one thing I've learned over the course of my life, it's certainly how to pay attention to details. And the best part is, I don't have to write anything down. I keep all of my information in my head, hoping there'll come a day when I can use it.

I obey Mrs. Everdeen's command and visit her as often as I can. My back is healing nicely, but it still causes me pain in moments of extreme stress or overwork, which is actually quite frequently. I am told this pain could stay with me for the rest of my life, and I can only pray it doesn't.

The best parts of my visits to their house are the times when I can see Katniss. They come very rarely and are always short-lived, although I try to make them last. She always seems a little out of it these days, mostly because of her broken leg. She explained to me what happened, once, but her mother was in the room with us when Katniss tried telling me, so I have a feeling that I received a more condensed version than what actually happened. She told me she wanted to go into the woods, and when she tried to come back, the electricity was on. She climbed a tree, hopped the fence, and hurt her heel.

But the entire time she was telling me the story, she seemed distracted. Like something happened in the woods that she wasn't saying. Something important. I know Katniss so well, that I'm almost positive she's keeping a secret from me. The question is: what is it? And why can't I know?

I've just gotten out of the mines and am walking to the Everdeens' house for my check-up. I'm excited because I know Katniss will be there, and all in all, my day has been pretty awful. Thom got hurt in the mine- nothing serious, just a twisted ankle- but he couldn't walk or work and now he won't have a salary for the next few days. And he sincerely needed that money.

Mrs. Everdeen has gotten into the habit of leaving the door open for me after my shift is over, so I open the door without knocking. There's soft laughing coming from the living room, from two voices. One is a girl's laugh, and the other is a boy's, strange and yet familiar.

I recognize Katniss's laugh right away. I've heard it so many times out in the woods, and for a moment I can't remember where I am. Since when did Katniss laugh in public?

Turning so I can see the inside of the living room, my eyes land on the stranger in the room instantly. Peeta.

I look where Katniss is, sitting at the coffee table, bent over a book of some sort. Her head is touching _his_, their eyes on the book in front of them.

I study the book from where I stand, recognition hitting me. The book they're looking it is the book I would easily say saved my life many, many times. It was written by various generations of Katniss's family, including her father. It's sort of an herbalist book, full of various plants and their uses, and for a long time Katniss has said she wanted to add to it. Unfortunately, she's not the greatest artist and having detailed drawings is extremely important. So what is Peeta doing with it?

I remember that Peeta is a baker and is _probably_ fairly good at art. He's doing the drawings for Katniss, something I never was able to do. He has a pen and a paintbrush in one hand and is brushing the hair out of Katniss's eyes with the other. The smile on his face is large and he's whispering something to her. I guess she thinks it's funny because she laughs a little. Neither of them notice me, but when Peeta reaches for her hand, I have to speak up.

"Catnip," I say, my voice betraying my feelings.

Both of their heads snap up to where I'm leaning in the doorway. Peeta looks a little upset, and Katniss looks uncomfortable. I don't think she's used to seeing me and Peeta in the same room.

"Hey, Gale," she says, smiling weakly at me.

"Is your mom here? I need-"

"Actually, she's with a patient right now." she interrupts me. "I don't know how long it will take, so… How serious is it?"

"Oh, I'll be fine. Actually, if your mom can't see me, I need to head on home. Mom wanted…" I head towards the door, but Katniss stops me.

"Wait!"

She turns to Peeta. "Do you mind? I need to talk to him for a second."

He nods. "Yeah, don't worry about it. I need some different paints anyway. I'll be right back." He stands up, grabbing his jacket and heads for the door as she says "thanks" quietly.

"Can I talk with you?" Katniss asks me.

I look into her eyes for a moment, but drop my gaze to the floor. "All right. I don't have much time, though."

I can tell that Katniss has something on her mind, something she's dying to say, so I wait quietly while she tries to put her thoughts into words.  
"Let's take a walk," she finally says. I nod and I help her up to go outside.

"You know how we talked about a rebellion?" Katniss asks me as we walk down the streets of The Victor's Village. "Well, I was wondering. How are the miners feeling about that now?" The question sounds hesitant, halting and unsure.

I consider answering. Katniss has some crazy ideas about rebellion, and I think that I almost couldn't explain what's going on to her in a way that she would understand. She told me she that she wanted to be part of a rebellion, but I know far better than she does that if there actually _was_ a rebellion, she wouldn't do much of anything. Anyway, with her proximity to the Capitol and other members of the government, it's almost too risky to tell her the truth as I know it. She might accidentally let something slip, and then where would we be?

It's not that I don't trust her, because I do. It's that I'm not sure of anything right now, and I know the Capitol has ways of getting information from people that aren't particularly… pleasant.

Anyway, if I told her about my plans, she'd just tell me to be careful, and I really don't need that right now. I don't know how much of her heart is into the rebellion yet.

"The rumors are practically nonexistent," I lie, my voice sounding glum. "The miners are so scared of the Capitol that they don't even want to consider rebelling."

Katniss's expression falls, frowning deeply at this news. "We have to change that."

"Good luck with that," I sigh. "Fat chance of getting them to change their mind."

She doesn't respond and continues to frown, and for a moment I feel guilty about lying to her. But it's too late to take it back and change my mind now, so I try to justify my choice. This way is safer, for all of us.

By the next day, I know that I've made the right decision. If I got Katniss involved, she would try to get Peeta and Haymitch to help out, and what good would a drunken old man and a national heart-throb do for a revolution? None that I can think of.

I'm walking through Town Square, heading home, when I walk past Mayor Undersee's house. I can't help it, I stop and just look at Madge's house. It's obviously gigantic, bigger even than the houses in the Victor's Village, and once again I find myself contemplating why on earth she would bring me the medicine for my back. She's the _mayor's daughter_ and I'm, well, literally dirt poor. According to stereotype, we have to hate each other. Although… I am overcome by a sudden urge to ring the doorbell to talk to her. After all, she braved a blizzard to bring me pain killers, and I haven't even had the chance to thank her for it. And however much she drives me crazy- and she _does_- I owe it to her to thank her.

I take a half step towards the door, change my mind, turn around, change my mind again, and ring the bell.

As soon as I've made up my mind, I want to take it back. This is going to be such a waste of my valuable time. Any time I try talking to Madge, we end up in an argument. She's just so stubborn, and I tell her so, and then she insists that I'm judgmental, and while she's probably right, I still don't like to hear it.

I'm standing in the doorway awkwardly when the door opens. It's her father. This startles me because I wasn't expecting him to answer the door.

"Gale?" He sounds surprised. He hasn't seen me in ages, not since strawberry season, anyway. I'm amazed he even remembers my name.

"Mayor Undersee? Is Madge here?" I ask.

He turns his head to look over his shoulder and I can hear the television on in the room on the left. A piece of the dialogue floats across the room and reaches my ears.

"What do you think about us throwing their wedding right here in the Capitol?" I recognize the clip, something President Snow said a while ago. I must wince or something, because the Mayor seems to realize that I'm uncomfortable with what I'm hearing. I can't help it. It doesn't matter if the wedding is just a ruse or not, the rest of Panem thinks it's going to happen. And as far as I know, it _will_ happen. If Katniss doesn't run- and she said she wouldn't- she's doomed to marry Peeta. Although 'doomed' probably wouldn't be her preferred word choice. Watching her dressed up in wedding gowns, lounging around and saying all sorts of wonderful, lovey-dovey things about her fiancé that probably came right off a script- what can I do with that? Other than worry about what might not happen?

"Yes, she is," he says to me. Over his shoulder he shouts, "Madge, turn that down! There's someone here to see you!"

I can't help but smile a little. Mr. Undersee didn't really strike me as a yelling-type of parent. After all, he _is_ the mayor.

"You can go on in. She's on the couch." I nod, say "thank you" quietly, and walk inside.

Sure enough, she's lying on the couch, her eyes on the television. My gaze travels to the screen, and I frown. Katniss is trying on various fancy dresses (not the wedding dresses yet, the photo shoot still hasn't happened), twirling in circles and giggling- giggling!- and an announcer is explaining how to vote for the right dress. It's all for the Capitol audience, of course, and I can't even imagine why Madge would want to watch it when she didn't have to. Watching it once was bad enough, for me.

She turns her head and just looks surprised to see me there. Her eyebrows are raised. "Um, hey, Gale. What's with the surprise visit?"

I meet her eyes. There's no point beating around the bush. I have things I need to do before the day's over, and I can't waste time in an argument with Madge. "I never got to say thank you for the morphling."

"All right," she replies steadily. "Well, here's your chance, then."

I exhale impatiently. "Thank you for the morphling."

Yeah, this is more or less how all of our conversations go. It's a constant battle between Madge and me, and while I'd like to say I win, I have to admit that it's usually a draw.

"You're welcome," she says, her eyes turning back to the screen. Katniss on the screen is currently wearing a dress covered in pearls, which I have to admit looks fantastic on her, but the thought that she would wear it to marry Peeta makes me want to gag a little.

"The star-crossed lovers from District 12 are going to get the wedding of their dreams-" begins the announcer. Madge scowls as the shot changes to one of Katniss and Peeta locked in a kiss while they were in that stupid cave during the Games.

"It makes me sick," she mutters, more to herself than to me. I have to agree with her for once, because the over-dramatic romance is just too much for me. Especially because it's Peeta and Katniss, and I am one of the few people in all of Panem who knows what the _real_ story is.

They're kissing again, in a different scene- falling over each other, latched on, lips locked while they're on the ground in the snow- and I want nothing more than to strangle the boy.

Madge scoffs and mutes the television almost angrily. "I'm sorry I'm watching this crap. Frankly, it's insulting. Katniss is more than some love struck teen."

"You can say that again," I mutter, my eyes darting around the room suspiciously. We're in a Capitol-owned home. If there are spies in the Victor's Village, there are definitely technological bugs in the mayor's home. But Madge doesn't seem worried about any of that. Maybe the Capitol trusts Mayor Undersee more than I suspected? Or maybe Madge just doesn't get the danger she's in, although I sincerely doubt that. She's far too smart to be, well… stupid.

She doesn't reply, so I guess that she must not have heard me. I don't feel like repeating myself, just in case her house is bugged, so I continue standing there in silence.

Finally she speaks. "Well? Were you planning on sitting down, or was that all you wanted to say to me?"

I shrug, not because I have nothing to say, but because I don't feel like wasting my time. "I guess that was all I wanted to say."

"Wow. I feel so honored. The notorious Gale Hawthorne actually stopped by to visit me, just to thank me. I'll be sure to write this down in my journal for future generations, just so no one ever forgets the enormity of the event." Madge rolls her eyes and leans back, pulling her feet up onto the couch so she's sitting on them.

"Look, if you don't want me to thank you, I'll take it back. I just figured you deserved some form of appreciation, since you saved me from a lot of pain. But-"

"No, no. I accept your gratitude; but I'd assumed you wanted something more, since you actually bothered to ring the bell and all. It's just usually… you come around back if it's for business. So I thought it was something more friendly." She scoffs. "I should have realized that was too good to be true. Gale Hawthorne, friendly?"

It's by pure coincidence that as she says these words, my picture shows up on the screen. Well, not just my picture, it's my whole family, greeting Katniss when she came home from the Games. But my eyes land on my face, and I can't help but notice that while the rest of my family is smiling and happy to see her, my eyes are hooded and protective. All I really remember of that moment was being worried that I'd lose her again. But that's ridiculous. Once a Victor, always a Victor. You can't be a Tribute twice. Thank God for that.

Madge gestures at the image of me on the screen with the remote. "I mean, just look at the hostility in those eyes. 'Friendly' isn't even a possibility! Haughty, yes. Rude? Yes. Rebellious? Yes! But never friendly."

Is it just me, or is there something approving in her voice? I force the thought out of my mind, it's clear to me that I've been listening too much to my mother. Girls never make any sense, so it's my personal opinion that guys in general should stop trying to figure them out.

"You know what?" She looks around the room, like she's searching for something, but finally her eyes land on mine. "Can you take a walk with me?"

"Um, sure." I reply, confused. What could she want with me?

Outside, our feet crunch over a light dusting of snow as we walk along the street. She waits until we're far enough away to actually talk freely, and then she begins. We're on the road that leads from her home to town square, and while there are people around, our voices are quiet and are almost drowned out by surrounding crowds.

"Where was I? Oh, yeah. This supposed 'rebellion' I keep hearing about." She doesn't even give me a chance to respond, and just continues with her tirade. "I hope you realize how stupid it was for you to send your little brothers around. People can be traced, especially if they're eleven years old." Her eyes are shooting daggers at me, but I just stare at her.

Do my eyes give away my feelings? Neither of my brothers should even see her at school. How does she even know to ask me?

Madge flicks her wavy blonde hair out of her eyes and keeps talking. "Oh, don't look so surprised. If you send messengers to carry a message, I think you should also expect the message to be heard, if you know what I mean."

"The message was _meant_ to be heard," I reply suddenly, annoyed at her. This is the part where Madge and I get into our usual 'show-down', a gigantic debate between the two of us. Talking to her wasn't always this bad- if Katniss was there, Madge was always unusually quiet. But if I ever have to confront Madge on my own, I'm doomed. "And it's not like Rory and Vick are doing anything dangerous. I mean, they're not shouting out 'down with the Capitol' at assemblies, or even asking people if they want a revolution, or anything obvious like that. What they're doing… it doesn't even count as rebellion." I dismiss, putting my hands in the pockets of my jacket. "Little things like complaining about how hungry they are and how they don't want to work in the mines aren't illegal. Especially when you're eleven," I say, shooting back her own words at her. "It's not just them anymore, in fact, they hardly ever speak out. The rumors and complaints are spreading on their own. Trust me, I've thought this through. They're not in any danger. If anyone is, it's me."

"Yeah, I know. That's the stupid part." Madge sighs, bending down to tie a lace on her shoe. "See, if you were going to be smart about this, you'd make it so no one was in danger, especially not you. I'm assuming that since you're asking about a revolution, you have some form of a plan? If you're the only person with any idea about how to start an uprising, you owe it to this District to keep yourself alive. So, stop being stupid." She looks up at me, and gets to her feet again. "But that might be asking too much of you."

I scoff. "Well, it's not like _you'd_ have any great ideas, yourself! You're the mayor's daughter, one of the richest people in all of District 12. I doubt you've ever been hungry in your life, and I sincerely doubt you even care enough to-"

Her eyes narrow. "Don't even go there, Hawthorne. This is my District too, and in case you didn't know, it was my aunt that fought and died in the Games. I know fear, and hunger, and pain as much- if not more- than any of you miners. So don't you dare get up on your pedestal and start preaching to me, because I'm not in the mood to hear it."

I don't think I've ever heard her sound so angry, and that's saying something, because I've seen her pretty upset. She and I really know how to push each other's buttons. It'd be comical if it didn't make me so frustrated. I don't think that even Katniss realizes that Madge and I know each other this well, since I so rarely get to see either of them anymore.

Madge takes a deep breath in, then looks at me, her expression calmer. "And if you're planning a rebellion, I want in."

I don't even know how to respond to this. The logical part of me can see the sense in her proposition- having someone close to the government would be invaluable. But the more stubborn, teenage boy part of me can't stand the thought of having her help. It's Madge, after all. I can't accept her help solely on principle.

For a moment, the two conflicting personalities are locked in a battle in my mind, and finally they emerge with a truce.

"I'm not planning anything, yet." I respond. Madge just looks at me with an expression that seems to say "yeah, right." I shrug. "It's true, so stop looking at me like that. I'm pretty sure we'd have a lot of support if we really tried to get something going, but right now, I wouldn't even know where to start." Finally, for the first time, I've given someone an entirely honest answer. "I have ideas, but I don't know how to set them in motion."

Madge frowns, considering this. "Sometime you'll have to tell me these ideas. I know it's hard for you to believe, but I'm not stupid. And I could be an asset to you."

"I know you could," I say truthfully. "But I need to think things over."

We've come back to her house, our stroll almost done, and she looks thoughtful as she says, "Maybe you need to talk to someone."

"I know," I respond, frustrated. "That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

Madge shakes her head impatiently, tossing her blonde curls. "No. Someone who knows what's going on. Look, I hear things, and situations in the other districts don't look too good. You need to talk to someone who has access to everything that's going on."

"Like who? Your dad?"

"Maybe you should talk to Haymitch."

"Huh?" What good could Haymitch do me?

Madge shrugs, repeating herself. "Maybe you should talk to Haymitch. I know it sounds crazy, but I'm usually a pretty perceptive person and… I don't know. Haymitch is a smart guy- too smart to just be completely clueless about the government. I just feel like Haymitch would have a lot to offer."

"What makes you think he's not a drunken old man?" I ask.

"Oh, there's no doubt there. He _is_ a drunken old man," she replies quickly. "But think about it. He's had connections to the Capitol for twenty-five years now. He has to know _something._ And more than that, didn't you ever wonder how he managed to win his Games? If he's as stupid as the whole country believes, he'd never have beaten my- um, the others. There were forty-eight Tributes that year. A fool couldn't have possibly won."

I think about this, knowing that she's right. The pieces just don't add up. I've seen him on television, around town, and he does seem like he's an idiot. But how was it that an idiot managed to get not one, but _both_ of his Tributes to survive? It's unheard of. Impossible. And more than that, he fought in a Quarter Quell, like this year, and those are always the most difficult and awful years to compete in. The first Quarter Quell, the Districts had to vote for their Tributes. The second one, Haymitch's Quell, had twice as many Tributes as usual. Who knows what disgusting twist the Gamemakers will put on the Games this year? I don't envy the Tributes who'll be chosen this year. I mean, I never do, but especially not now. "You might be right."

She just nods once. "I'm sure of it. Just go talk to him. He could help you."

"All right," I say, the skepticism obvious in my tone of voice. "I'll keep that in mind."

We're standing on her doorstep, one of her hands on the knob, ready to twist it to step inside.

"Please, don't just blow it off."

This pulls me up short. Madge Undersee has just said please. To me. It's a miracle. And because it startles me so much, I nod. I sincerely won't forget about this, and maybe I'll even talk to him. I'm stubborn, but not _that_ stubborn.

"I'll see what I can do. But I doubt he'll talk to me. He's not exactly the sociable type."

"Neither are you," Madge points out.

And I can't say anything in return to that. I can't argue with the truth.

"Well. This has been fun, but I really have important things to do." she finally says loudly. "I'm _so_ glad you decided to grace me with your presence." And suddenly, our truce is over and we're back to being Undersee and Hawthorne, rivals and enemies.

"You should be. Most girls don't ever get this close to me."

"Well, aren't I a lucky girl."

"Why yes, you are. But don't let it go to your head- I'm only here out of pity. Seeing as I'm so charitable and all."

We're both smiling now, our banter not vicious, but gently teasing.

Madge steps inside the house. "Good-bye, Gale."

"See you later, Madge."

She leans towards me like she's trying to make up her mind, kisses my cheek hastily, and then shuts the door in my face.

I just stand there for a moment, stunned, not sure how I'm feeling about that. I _don't_ like her like that, and from what I can tell, she doesn't like me like that either. We're friends, sort of, but that's it. Katniss is the one on my mind and I'm sure Madge knows it. So, what the crap does she possibly want me to do about the awkward situation she just created?

Crazy girl.

_A/N: You guys want a friendly tip? Don't _ever_ let a slow reader borrow your only copy of a book that you need. I learned that the hard way- I let one of my friends borrow CF and she didn't give it back to me for a whole two months, which explains the delay- which I really, REALLY, am sorry about. To those who asked, no, I'm not abandoning this story. Thank you all so much for commenting and urging me to continue; but I'm not going anywhere. Life has just been very hectic since it's the holidays and end of semester, and the fact that I didn't have Catching Fire _or _the Hunger Games, made my life increasingly more difficult. But I'm back, and hopefully my next update will be a little quicker. So thank you again, and I hope you're enjoying it so far!_


	6. Chapter 6

_N/A: As usual, sorry it's been so long. I guess I'm just a procrastinator by nature. Anyway, thanks to all the people who reviewed, it's great checking my e-mail and seeing the "Review for Guilty" sign. Makes me happy every time. Anyway, enjoy!_

"Gale, it's Mandatory Viewing. Come out here!"

I groan in response. 'Mandatory viewing' are two of the most hated words in my vocabulary. And that's saying quite a bit, seeing as there are tons of words I hate. Anything having to do with the Capitol at the top of the list, of course. Sitting on the couch, or on the floor, staring at a small, battered television, having government propaganda literally shoved in my face is not my preferred way to spend the little bit of time I have off from work. It's bad when it's just the President spewing his usual malarkey, it's worse when it's kids dying in the Games, but now, tonight, I have to watch the preparations for Katniss's upcoming wedding. And I don't know if I can stand that.

But I have to. If I want to live, I have to. And my plans for the future don't include my death, as unbelievable as that may be.

I get up slowly and walk into what I suppose could be called the living room. Rory and Mom are sitting on the couch, Posy on our mom's lap. Vick is on the floor, lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, his eyes watching the screen disinterestedly.

On the television is a flickering image, once again, that of Katniss and Peeta, locked in an embrace, kissing with a surprising amount of passion for two people who are only _pretending_ to be in love.

I resist gagging. How can the Capitol _not_ be sick of the "star-crossed lovers from District 12?" Because I, for one, would like nothing better than for the world to be done with the pair.

I sit down stiffly on another chair, my eyes on the screen, forced to watch as Katniss continues to kiss him. They're holding hands now, laughing, whispering to each other.

Have I mentioned how much I hate mandatory viewing?

My mother seems to notice my discomfort (but then again, she always does) but there's nothing she can do about it. Our family still has to pay attention as Katniss models all of her wedding gowns so the Capitol can choose which she will wear.

It's just one more instance of the Capitol controlling her life. They killed her father. They almost killed her. They chose who she will marry. And now they're choosing everything about her wedding.

And as usual, I can't do anything but sit and watch.

Posy, though, doesn't understand what's going on. She's watching the pictures of Katniss in her dresses with awe, her little grey eyes wide in wonder.

"Katniss is a princess," she gasps as Katniss is shown in a dress that's covered in diamonds, making her whole figure shimmer as she moves. Posy frowns, as if thinking, and then makes a decision. "I wanna be a princess, too!" she announces.

I don't say anything to this right away. My first thought is _no, you don't._ In order to be in Katniss's position, Posy would have to win the Hunger Games. And I don't want her to ever even have the possibility of being a Tribute. But out loud, I say, "A princess?"

She nods, and onscreen I can hear Katniss say something like "I can't wait. I just love him so much."

I don't care how much she's faking it, hearing these words about someone else, about Peeta, hurts. I try to block it out by chattering with Posy. No one else in my family seems to mind; Vick looks bored from looking at all the 'stupid dresses' and Rory just looks anxious. Like he thinks there's something better for him to be doing.

"Well, Posy, you'd be a pretty little princess. And you'd get to command the rest of us around. How would you like that, huh?"

She points her finger at me. "Gimme piggie-back ride!"

My smile starts to slide from my face, but I fix it back in position. "I'm sorry, honey, but you know that I can't." It's been awhile since I could carry anything comfortably on my back, much less my little sister. I could carry her in my arms, easy. But a piggie back is impossible for me at this point in time. "Anyway, we're supposed to be watching T.V. Not running around." She frowns at me, but promptly puts her thumb into her mouth and starts sucking on it.

Cinna, the stylist whose gloves I'm currently in possession of, is talking to Caesar Flickerman, chatting about all the dresses he designed for Katniss. As the designs (and Katniss in them) continue to appear on the screen, I can't help but think how extravagant all of this is, just for a wedding. Here in District 12, things are never this… big. The bride rents a simple white dress. The groom wears something clean, preferably not speckled with coal dust. The dresses that Katniss are trying on are almost ridiculous, no expense spared for Panem's sweetheart.

But. There's one dress in particular- white, covered in pearls- that I can't tear my eyes away from. And Katniss, trying to look sultry and surprisingly not flat-out failing (which is a miracle as far as I'm concerned) smiling like she knows a secret and isn't going to tell.

Looking at her, I'm overcome with a sense of grief.

I'm going to lose her.

There's nothing I can do to stop this wedding, and there's no way President Snow will cancel it, either. I take a breath as it hits me again.

I'm going to lose her.

I watch the rest of the program in silence, zoned out, not even paying attention. The other dresses and designs are shown, but I only start really watching again when Caesar Flickerman proclaims that we need to "get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style." My mother is about to turn off the television, when Caesar announces that there will be another big event tonight, that we all need to stay tuned. "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"

Our family exchanges glances. Quells are always vicious, and who knows what rules will be incorporated this time?

"What's going to happen?" says Vick suddenly. None of us have ever been in a Quell before, and I have no idea what to expect.

My mother considers this for a brief moment. "They usually read a card, the explanation of the twist on the Games," she explains, her eyes brimming with barely concealed anger. "It's going to be ruthless this year, after what Katniss did," she adds.

"It's always ruthless," I say dryly, although my heart won't stop pounding.

The anthem plays, and President Snow comes onto the stage, followed by a young boy dressed in white, carrying a small box.

The white suit, to me, is a reminder of the wedding, a little jab reminding me of Peeta's triumph.

As we sit there in silence, our president speaks to us, reminding us of the Dark Days, so long ago, the original rebellion. He explains the history of the Games, the reasoning behind the Quarter Quell. How it's a "glorified" version of the Games, how its point was to remind the rebels of their failure and to discourage any future attempts.

I've never heard him speak like this before, pointedly reminding the country of the rebellion. His words seem to be directed at specific people, at all of the Districts who are in rebellion right now. Panem is in an uproar, and it's obvious that this quarter's Quell will be worse than any of the previous ones. The dread, the knots in my stomach tighten as he continues to discuss the Quell.

The only good thing about this year's Games is that I know Katniss and I will both be safe- I'm too old to participate now and she's a Victor- there's no way she can possibly be re-drawn.

The President lists off what happened in the previous Quells. The first one, every district had to vote for their Tributes- actually _elect_ them, as a reminder that their children were dying because of the rebels' choice to "initiate violence." The second Quell, each district had to send twice as many Tributes to remind them that two rebels died for every citizen of the Capitol.

I look at my mother, who was had to watch that year. Her lips are pressed tightly together and there's pain in her eyes, but I can't quite figure out why. She doesn't say anything.

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," the President says. The little boy in white walks up to where Snow is standing and opens the lid, holding the box up so the president can reach in and pull out the yellowing envelope. He opens the envelope and pulls out a small piece of paper, but my eyes aren't on his hands. They're on his face. I don't believe this- he's _smiling_.

There. On his face. A patronizing smirk.

My jaw tightens but he's reading now, and I have to listen.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

I understand what this means instantly, and the sense of dread I'm feeling intensifies. District Twelve only has three Victors. Haymitch and Peeta are the males, and we only have one female Victor. Katniss. She's going back in.

Without even thinking about what I'm doing, I yell out her name, lunging forward towards the screen, like going to her side will save her from her inevitable fate.

My family gets what it means right after I yell "Katniss," and my mother instantly comes to my side as I try to stand up. Her hands are on my shoulders, gently holding me back from dashing out of the room, trying to make me calm down and _listen_ to her, but all I know is I'm shaking my head and I'm just saying one word, over and over, and I think it's "no."

"Gale, you need to calm down. This isn't helping anyone."

And I know it's not, honestly I do, but I can't seem to control anything in my life anymore. Nothing I do helps anyone, and I get that now.

"Katniss," I say weakly. This has to be harder for her than it is for me. "She needs me."

My mother looks like she's not going to let me leave, because the President is still speaking but I'm not listening and I don't want to listen to him, not ever again and I can't think straight and she must see the panic in my eyes, but for a moment she doesn't say anything.

"Please." I whisper.

She looks at Vick, Rory and Posy, who are watching me with frightened expressions, and then turns her eyes back on me. I know how awful I look- covered in coal dust and dirt, and who knows how much of the fear I'm feeling is showing on my face. Forget being brave for my family, forget being noble, forget rebelling, I feel now in this moment how little everything I've done amounts to in the end.

_Even the strongest among us cannot overcome the power of the Capitol._

Even the strongest. Even me, or Katniss, or any rebellion that could possibly be happening, because in the end, it all gets crushed by the Capitol. Any hopes, dreams, wishes for peace, it all dies. In the end, everything dies. Not just people.

And everything we do to try to change it… it's all so… useless.

I think I may even be crying, but all I know is I can't control it. I need to find her.

My mother finally nods. "Go to her."

I stand up shakily, and I run.

I'm pounding on the door to her house now, knocking, hoping she's in there and she's safe and she hasn't done anything drastic because the last thing we need is for her to be injured right now, but I know her too well. She's gone and done something stupid, and I can tell I'm right when Prim opens the door and her eyes are wet with tears and everything about her shows how worried she is.

But her expression brightens a bit when she sees me there, in the door, and without even saying anything to me, she throws herself at me and I pull her into a hug.

We stand there a moment, and I finally ask what I need to know. "Prim, where's Katniss?"

I can hear her saying something, but it's muffled because her face is pressed into my stomach, and she takes a step away.

"She ran. As soon as she knew, she ran. We don't know where she went."

If I know Katniss, and I do, the first place she'd try to go is the woods beyond the fence. Even though she knows it's not allowed, even though it's not possible to get out of the District anymore, she'd still try to go.

"She'll be back," I tell Prim. "She always comes back." She could never run, for real. Even though now it's so obvious that we should have left the district like she said, back in the woods at the lake house. We should have run. I should have listened to her. If she dies, it'll be my fault and I'll have to carry _that_ guilt with me too. And I'm already feeling so guilty that I think adding one more thing to the pile would finish me off.

"I know," Prim tells me. There's another moment of silence. "We thought she'd be safe," she sniffles quietly, and I don't know what to say, I'm still in shock. What else can I say except "I thought she'd be safe too"? She's a Victor. She should have survived, shouldn't have to face that arena again.

And it's not just her. Either Peeta or Haymitch will have to go in again, too, and as much as I dislike them, I don't want either of them to go back in. Don't want either of them to die.

"I'm so sorry," is all I tell her. I'm trying to control my thoughts, trying to sound calm, trying to act like the adult the Everdeens need. None of them can really take care of themselves right now, and as long as I'm here, I might as well help them. "How is your mother taking it?"

She looks at me, and just shakes her head. I feel a little pang for their family, for all their problems, and say, "Come on, let's go see her." Prim locks her hand with mine, and takes me inside.

Mrs. Everdeen is staring at the television screen, eyes blank, even though the screen is off. She's just _sitting _there. No tears. No anything. Just… staring.

I kneel down at her side, wiping any and all emotions off my face. "Mrs. Everdeen? It's me, Gale."

She's looking at me, but I can tell she's not really _seeing_ me.

"I know this is hard for you," I begin, "but you can't really afford to be doing this right now. Katniss is more scared than you are, and you and Prim have to be brave for her. If she comes home to you acting like this, I don't think she'll be able to survive this time." I'm talking very slowly, explain to Mrs. Everdeen like I would speak to a very small child. "Please, Mrs. Everdeen. I know you have it in you. Be brave for her. For Katniss."

And as I say her daughter's name, Mrs. E's gaze comes back into focus, and she's searching my eyes, wondering if there's any hope for her daughter.

"Do you really believe Katniss has a chance?" she whispers to me. I feel like I should answer her honestly, so I take a second and think about it.

The truth?

I don't know. She has a much higher probability of dying the second time around, but it's a funny thing, hope. Even when you know you shouldn't have any, even when it seems like there's none left, you can always find some, hiding where you least expect it.

Part of me wants to give up, wants to just acknowledge the fact that the wedding doesn't even matter anymore. Forget matrimony, I'm just a little bit more worried about the possibility of her _dying_ in the near future.

But now, looking at Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, the smaller- far weaker- part of me realizes I still believe she can pull it off. That Katniss can- and _will_ survive this. That even though there shouldn't be any hope, I still have a little.

And a little is more than enough for me.

"Yes."

A shaky smile spreads across her face, and she closes her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath in to calm herself. Prim grabs her mother's hand and helps her to her feet.

I don't say anything. My job is done, at least for the moment. But Mrs. E catches me off guard, hugging me gently, and only for a short moment. "Thank you so much," she whispers.

I don't say "you're welcome." Instead, all I say is, "do you mind if I stay here until she gets home?"

"Of course not," she says. Then, a few moments later: "Where do you think she went?"

The awful truth of the matter is that she most likely went to either Peeta's or Haymitch's house, and it kills me that I wasn't even on the list of people that she went to. But I understand. They've been there, they're feeling the same pain that she is. They _understand._ And I guess I don't.

In the end, I'm just a bystander who cares.

"She's nearby," I say.

And that's all I say for a very long time.

I have positioned myself so I'm facing the window that shows the front of the house, so whenever Katniss decides to come back to her home, I'll see her as she arrives.

I don't know how long I sit there, staring blankly at the window, the same thoughts running through my head in a jumble, the words hardly making any sense, not even to me.

_We should have run need to see Peeta talk to Haymitch save her please can't die should have _run_ why so stupid my fault all my fault-_

And then I see her, stumbling down the road, swaying off-balance as she walks towards me, a bottle in her hand.

She went to Haymitch, that's the only explanation, but I don't even care if she's drunk or not, I stand up without really thinking it through and open the door as she staggers up the front steps.

There's nothing in her eyes except recognition and pain now, and I don't even think about what I'm going to do before I do it. I pull her into my arms and hold her there, saying the only thing I can. There's no way I can apologize for my mistake- we should have ran away, we shouldn't be here now.

"I was wrong. We should have gone when you said," I whisper into her hair.

"No," Katniss says, and her voice is thick and sluggish from the alcohol. The bottle in her hands is slung against my back and the liquor is sloshing out and all over my jacket, my only jacket, but I don't care. I just want to stand there and hold her and possibly even protect her, but anything I do is pointless because so far any attempts to save her have failed miserably.

I say what I've been thinking. "It's not too late." We could still run. We could still leave, still save ourselves, still forget the rebellion and the Capitol and live out in the woods. She and I are capable, we can find a way over the fence-

"Yeah, it is." Is what she says in response, and I can see in her face that she's tired and she's been crying, and I know from looking at her that she's had _far_ too much to drink and she can't stand up on her own for much longer.

Her knees buckle underneath her and I catch her, but the bottle in her hands slips out of her grip and breaks on the floor, the liquor spilling out over my boots. I watch her as her eyes roll into the back of her head and I know she's unconscious in my arms.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. For everything," I say to her, even though I know she can't hear me.

It doesn't matter whether she's awake or not. This time around, I'm going to atone for all my mistakes. I'll help Peeta or Haymitch, whichever one is in the Games with her. Because she is _going_ to survive.

I have her cradled in my arms now as I walk into the house. She clearly can't stand on her own, and she's pretty small and light, to be honest, so normally I wouldn't have any problems carrying her. I know lifting her should be hell on my back. But in this moment, as I carry my best friend up the stairs of her house, any pain doesn't bother me.

I won't let it.

Mrs. Everdeen and Prim see Katniss in my arms and Prim lets out a little gasp.

"Katniss!" she comes over and looks at me. "Is she all right? What's wrong with-" her nose crinkles as she smells the liquor that's all over both me and her sister. "She smells like Haymitch."

Prim's eyes widen as she realizes what this means. "How much did she drink?"

I shake my head. "I have no idea, but I'm guessing a lot. Less than Haymitch did, probably, but still. A lot."

Mrs. E is in 'doctor mode' already, and as soon as I get Katniss onto her bed, I'm ordered to leave the room. It's not hard to guess why, Katniss's clothes are filthy. I wouldn't want her in her bed in them, either.

I obediently leave her and Prim to their business and wait outside the room until they're done, leaning against the wall, but I'm anxious and twitchy. She's going to have a headache when she wakes up, and I can guarantee that liquor won't be pleasant coming back up. I realize that my jacket and shoes are still wet and they smell like alcohol, but I don't know what to do with them. I can't exactly take them off.

The door opens while I'm contemplating this, and Mrs. E and Prim come out of the bedroom. I stand up quickly.

"Can I…?" I ask. I want a moment alone with her.

"Yeah, go on in."

"Thanks," I say, stepping softly into the dimly lit room.

Her room is large, much larger than any bedroom I've ever been in before. I know it's part of the typical Victor's Village house design, but that doesn't change the fact that it's unusual to see Katniss in such a large room, asleep on a bed that she has all to herself. I'm used to her old home, and even though I stayed in this house when I was recovering from the whipping, it's still unfamiliar to me. I miss walking past her old house in the mornings, meeting up with her at our spot in the woods. So much of what I used to accept as "life" has changed for me, and I- I miss what it used to be. Just Katniss and I, hunting in the woods like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The covers are pulled up to her chin, which is probably for a good reason, and I sit down at her side, studying her face. Her hair is wet and clinging to her forehead, which is covered by a feverish sort of sweat. I almost expect Katniss to be rolling around in her sleep, groaning like she would if she was honestly sick, but no. She's out cold, and even though tomorrow morning will be bad, I'm grateful that right now she has an escape from thought. She doesn't have to think about what this Quell's announcement means for her. She's most likely already been making scenarios in her mind, and none of them can have a good ending.

I reach out and run my fingers through her hair, pushing it off her face. Is this what she must have done when _I _was unconscious? Studied me and realized how much we need each other? Because I know that's what I'm doing now, and for some reason, I have half-baked memories of her touching my face, whispering to me while I was in pain after Thread got to me.

All I know is, her voice helped. Hearing her talk to me healed me, took away some of the pain.

And even though Katniss's pain isn't physical, I hope that maybe my voice will help. If only a little.

And so I talk to her softly, reminding her of some of the moments we shared in the woods. It's only a few minutes that I'm in there with her, but we have so little time left. I'm not going to waste what I have.

Finally, I simply touch her lips with my fingers, gazing sadly at the girl I've loved for the last four years. I've told her I love her, once, but who knows when I'll be able to say something to convince her again?

I take a breath in. "I love you." There. I almost stop talking after I say it, but then I realize that there's more on my tongue, more words dying to come out. I know she can't hear me. I know it doesn't matter what I say to her. But I can't help it. "I love you and I promise, you're not going to die in there. I'll do everything I possibly can so you survive. You're not going to die. You're _not_ going to die," I repeat in a harsh whisper, more to myself than to her.

And because I _do_ love her and I know she would never allow it if she was awake, I lean in and kiss her lips lightly, gently, and far too briefly.

In that moment, I feel like a character in a fairy tale. For a split second I'm the prince, kissing the princess to wake her from the spell and prove his love. After all, only true love could save the girl, could make her wake up so she and her prince can live out their happily ever after.

The feeling passes though, for three simple reasons.

First, because I'm the farthest thing from a prince there is. I'm covered in black coal dust and dirt, wearing my uniform and jacket. I smell like liquor and I haven't really had a chance to have a good shave recently, so I basically look like a drunken bum. Not a prince.

Second, because life isn't a fairy tale. Never has been and never will be.

And finally, because when I kiss her, she doesn't wake up. Not even for a second. And everyone knows that true love's kiss is supposed to break the spell.

I look at her for a moment longer because I don't know how much time we have left, and then I turn and leave.

I have one more person I need to visit tonight; Katniss will be fine without me by her side. Anyway, this is urgent. It's probably going to be the most awkward conversation of my life, but I need to talk to him.

Peeta.

And before I really know what I'm doing, I'm standing outside his house, knocking on his door, trying to organize my thoughts into some semblance of a sentence. Because right now, everything in my mind is just a churning mass, no filter, nothing to sift the important thoughts from the ones that would be better locked up in my head forever.

The door opens- and it has to be him, he lives by himself- and I still don't know what I'm going to say and he's standing there, eyes red and yet somehow unfeeling. Like he's dulled himself to the world.

We both just stand there, staring at each other for a moment. The baker and the miner. The lover and the "cousin". The prince and the pauper.

And yet neither of us speaks.

Peeta, the one that's always so talkative and charismatic, is unusually silent. I don't blame him. What is there for him to say? What does he expect me to do? Tell him I'm sorry that he's going to die?

"What do you want?" he asks bluntly.

This is a very good question. What _do_ I want?

Katniss to live, for starters. All of Panem to be free. My dad back. My woods back. To be building a snare, outside the district, with _her_ at my side.

And the only one on that list that Peeta can actually help me with requires his death. Yeah, that's a GREAT plan.

"For you to have a chance," is what I say. Because it's true, isn't it? I don't want Peeta, or Haymitch and especially not Katniss to be killed. They've all survived so much. And I just want them to live.

"Good," he says. "I want her to have a chance, too."

And I don't miss that he changes the wording so he's only talking about Katniss.

"Peeta, we need to stop this." I say in a low voice, not lowering it out of fear of being heard but more because it's the natural thing to do. Peeta just stares back at me with his blue eyes, a world of hurt swirling just out of view. But there's something else in his expression that makes me study him for a moment longer.

Determination. Fiery, fervent determination.

"I'm trying. I already told Haymitch I was going back in. If Katniss has to go, so do I." His words hit me hard. He's going to volunteer to go back into those Games? That's when I really understand how much he loves her. Almost as much as I do. "She'll make it out. I'm going to make sure of it." And for a moment, I believe him. Just a moment.

"How?"

Peeta opens his mouth to speak, but cuts off even before he begins, changing his mind. "Come in. We need to talk," and he's motioning for me to come into his house with him. His sparkling, pristine, far too large, Victor's house.

I've never been inside his home before, and I don't know what I expect. Something like Katniss's home, large and formal but sort of… homey. Comforting, even, in a way that I didn't think was possible from a house from the Capitol.

But that's not at all what his house is like.

It's depressing, that's what it is. It's so big- too big- for one person. I follow him into the main room.

Instead of it looking like a typical room with just a couch and tables and chairs, there are paintings, everywhere. Art and art supplies are all over the main room, on stands and on the ground and leaning against the walls. I can't help but look at them in the brief moment I have before we sit down.

They're really spectacularly done, even though they're mostly of the Games and Katniss. I cast my gaze around the room. There's one of the mutts snarling as it tries to attack, another of a train, driving off into the distance, and another of the boy from District 3, tinkering with his tools. And finally my eyes land on one that makes my heart stop. I'm staring at it, trying to keep the emotions off my face because inside I'm churning. It's of a dark haired, olive skinned boy, and he's tied to a whipping post, hanging by his wrists because he's clearly unconscious. His shirt is torn open so the bare skin of his back is exposed to the crowd, blood spilling out onto the cobble-stoned streets.

It's so obvious. I know who it's supposed to be. And I wish Peeta wasn't such a good artist, because looking at the painting is making me feel sick.

I turn away and see Peeta staring at me, a strange expression on his face. Is it pity?

I don't need his pity. After all, _I'm_ not the one about to die.

I'm the one that survived.

"I'm not stupid," he says finally, quietly. "I know they're not going to let two of us win this time. Katniss will just have to win. That way she and Haymitch can come home."

"You're fighting against an Arena full of previous Victors," I say bluntly. "Her chances right now? Yeah, they're pretty much nonexistent."

It hurts me so badly to say that, but we both know it's the truth.

"What do you think I should do, then?" Peeta demands, and it seems like he actually wants to know my opinion.

So I give it to him. "You realize there's only one option for you, don't you?" I'm not meeting his eyes. As much as I dislike him, this option goes against every fiber of my being. I _don't _want to have to let her go back in there, and I don't want him to die. "You can't run. You can't hide. And you definitely can't just _not_ fight."

Looking at his face, I can tell that he knows what I know, that he understands what it is exactly he'll have to get Katniss and Haymitch to do. And then he says it.

"We have to be Careers."

I nod once, don't say anything.

"We're going to need a lot of work," he adds. The lost look is fading from his eyes and now he looks like he's a man on a mission. I can almost see his mind racing. "We can train. Go running, lift weights, learn how to survive. All of us."

If anyone can motivate Katniss and Haymitch, it's Peeta. I don't know how he'll do it, if Katniss keeps up the drinking, but I have a strange amount of faith in him, for someone I consider a rival.

"I'll help when I can," I find myself saying. "I could teach you and Haymitch some snares, but I don't know what else you'd need from me. I only have Sundays."

It's strange, talking with him so matter-of-factly. Discussing the new training regime he'll need in order to keep Katniss and Haymitch alive casually, like we're talking about the weather rather than a life-or-death situation.

I think we're both at the point where nothing can surprise us anymore. The best way to deal with a shock like this one is to try to keep emotions away.

Peeta just studies me for a moment, then whispers, "thank you."

My jaw tightens and I just shake my head. "It shouldn't have to be you." I don't even know what I mean by that, not really. It shouldn't have to be _anyone_.

"I'm not going to make it fun for them," he says. "And most of the other Victors won't stand for it, either."

"Good." There's a brief pause as I try to decide what to tell him. I edge my way into the new topic, hesitant at how he'll react. "But there's something you should know."

He raises his eyebrows, urging me to continue.

"I went to find Katniss, after I heard the announcement of the Quell." His eyes are worried and upset, like he doesn't like the direction I'm taking this conversation. "She went to Haymitch's house, and got herself drunk. Completely wasted." I tell him bluntly, trying to keep my voice flat.

Peeta jumps up, outraged. "What? How could she be so stupid? She's always telling him to-"

I interrupt. "Yeah, I thought you ought to know. She didn't take the news so well. I'd do something about it if I could, but I'm kind of short on time," I tell him dryly. "I don't know what you can do about it, but neither one of them should have any more liquor. Not if they want to win."

He nods, his eyes hard. "I'll see what I can do." Looking at him, I'm glad I'm not Haymitch or Katniss. I can see in his face that he's not going to make this easy for them. And for some strange reason, I wouldn't want anyone other than Peeta with her. I realize with a start that I _trust_ him.

The whole _world_ is going crazy.

He meets my eyes and says, "We need to start the training as soon as possible. I'll get us started, but I might need you to convince her. She'll listen to you," he adds softly.

I scoff. "I doubt it," I mutter. "She doesn't listen to anyone."

He smiles. "Don't I know it." The smile disappears. "But if she doesn't want to train, you have to try to convince her."

"I will. But she'll train." If I know her, and I do, she'll have made up her mind to do something stupid, like try to protect Peeta instead of herself. So training is her best option either way.

"And Haymitch promised me he'd help save her again, too." His eyebrows furrow together and he seems thoughtful. "I just wish we had some way of knowing what's going on in the Capitol."

"Maybe we do," I say slowly. Madge. Her father is the mayor, he has connections. Maybe she could find a way to get us information on the Quell. If I asked her… she might help. When I explain to Peeta, his eyes light up.

"Perfect."

And then something strange happens. I'm not sure what it is, but somehow, I realize I'm in the same room as Peeta Mellark and I'm not full of hate towards him, we're just… talking. He and I are plotting together, which is something I never dreamed could possibly happen. Except it has. And it's not that bad.

Much later, as I walk out the door and down the street, he calls after me. "Gale!"

I turn around.

"She's going to make it." And his voice is so powerful, so certain, that he couldn't be doing anything other than telling the truth.

"I know."

There is a moment where the shadow of a smile appears on his face, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. He doesn't reply; just goes back inside his house and shuts the door quietly.

I walk home slowly through the cold night, blowing out my breath so it appears in white clouds in front of me, and all I can think is that I actually believe him.

Peeta has to be right. She's going to make it.

She has to.


	7. Chapter 7

_So… I'm back._

_It feels like it's been literally forever since I last updated, so I'm really happy I finally had the time to write. I'll try to update quicker next time, but no promises. (:_

_As always, your reviews are appreciated._

_Enjoy! _

"This is called a deadfall trap," I say confidently, displaying my contraption. It's a Sunday and I'm teaching Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss as much as I know up snares, which is (not to brag or anything) a lot. Of course, I don't know exactly what the Gamemakers are going to put in the arena this year, but I have a basic idea, and I'm making sure to go over the snares that might be useful. They could be used to hunt food, or enemies if it comes down to it. Which, who knows, it might.

"It's a little bit more complex than the twitch-up, but it's still fairly simple," I tell them honestly, but Peeta's examining the trap like it's something dangerous.

Smart boy. This thing can kill most small animals and incapacitate or injure anyone dumb enough to go near it, if it's made correctly. And if I'm making it, I can pretty much guarantee it will be made correctly, on top of which, it will be virtually invisible to anyone walking by.

"So how would we manage to hide this?" Haymitch asks gruffly. I go on to explain that you don't have to hide what will fall, it's really only the trigger that needs to be invisible. People are going to expect to see a fallen log or rock- but if the trigger is hidden well enough, the prey is going to be unsuspecting no matter what.

Here's the thing about snares: like all traps, people assume they're too smart to ever be caught in one. They like to tell themselves that they're so intelligent that they'll see it coming and be able to get out of the way before the trigger's released. But, usually by the time they even _see_ the snare, they've been so tangled up in it they'll either end up really hurt, or dead.

For instance, years and years ago, when I first started hunting with my dad, I got tangled in one of his snares. I was 10, I think, and I had wandered away from my father. He had gone to check on his fishing lines, and I had decided I would walk a little ways away from the stream and look for his other snares. It was a game, kind of. If I found the trap, I won. If I didn't, he won.

I almost always lost.

All I'll say is that if I'm good at trapping, my father was a genius. For almost my whole life, right up to the day he died, he had to point them out to me in order for me to see his inventions. So really, it was no surprise that I walked- or rather, ran- right into his spring snare.

Spring snares work only when the prey you're hunting runs into the trigger bar- a little piece of wood that flies out of place- and lets loose a noose of rope or wire which will tangle around an animal's leg or neck.

In my case, it secured around my ankle, and then wrenched me off of my feet so forcefully that I fell flat on my back. It didn't hurt as badly as some of the other traps I've been caught in, but it was surprising and kind of embarrassing, because I couldn't figure out how to get free and had to limp all the way back to my father, trailing the remains of the snare behind me.

My father took one look at me and burst out laughing.

"Didn't see it coming, did you?" He asked as he knelt down and began to untangle to rope from my ankle. When I shook my head, he just laughed again. "Here's the thing, Gale- most people never do."

Needless to say, I learned my lesson that day. Snares can be dangerous to humans too- and _anything_ can be a trap.

It's kind of surprising because Katniss and Peeta and even Haymitch are asking me questions, thoughtfully listening to everything I say, testing out their snares and, yes, ruining some of them, but not _all_ of them. And it's nice because as the weeks pass, they're actually _improving_.

Peeta and Katniss devote all of their energy to training- to getting faster, stronger, more agile, more adept at fighting. I know Haymitch tries, but years of drunkenness and doing absolutely nothing productive have practically destroyed any endurance he might have had. But he seems to be a natural at making traps- he's doing much, much better than Peeta and it makes me think that maybe when he was younger, he used to hunt too. I don't think Katniss notices (she's kind of preoccupied with other things), but I'm almost positive that he's more rebellious than he lets on.

Everyone close to us starts helping them train- Prim uses her medicines to help soothe their muscles (and occasionally mine), Mrs. Everdeen puts them on a strict diet. Even Madge helps out- and no one had to ask her to.

I'm walking home from the mines through town when she comes running up to me, calling my name.

"Gale! Gale, stop!"

I stop walking and turn around, to see her holding something tucked into her arms.

"I want to give this to you. And Katniss," she says, and she holds out the bundle of papers that's in her arms. I reach out hesitantly and am about to open it to see what it is when she shakes her head sharply. "Not here," she hisses. "Once you're home."

I shoot her a look of confusion, but she doesn't tell me anything else other than, "I wanted to help. That's all."

When I get home and finally open up the parcel, I see that it's a newspaper from the Capitol. It has to be her father's, because it has everything in there I would have ever wanted to know. Just skimming the newspaper, my eyes catch on predictions for who will win the Games, guesses at what the arena might be, pictures of dresses and outfits and looks that each Tribute might go for this year.

And Madge keeps bringing them to us, every week.

I know that when Katniss reads the papers, she's checking for news on the Games. But when I read them, my eyes are always carefully watching for possibilities of revolts. Of course, they would never flat out describe a rebellion in the newspaper, but there could be clues, some slip-up, some mention of a struggle in the Districts.

Unfortunately… I never see them. If anyone is rebelling, there's no sign of it, anywhere.

I'm still working nearly impossible hours in the mine, inhaling thick coal dust in the darkness of underground, but things are changing down there, too. The day after the Quell is announced, a whole train full of a hundred more Peacekeepers rolls into the District. And from that point on, things only get stricter.

One morning as Bristel, Thom and I are about to go down into the mine, we're stopped at the entrance to the elevator by a crowd of miners who are all gathering around a piece of paper that is posted on the door. The crowd is silent, which in a way is even worse than if they were angry and yelling. Anger would have meant that the miners were stepping up and taking a stand. But silence… silence means submission.

Bristel leans over to me and Thom. "What is it?" he asks quietly. Thom gives a half-hearted shrug, but I push my way through the crowd, straining my eyes to see what it says.

I take one look at it, close my eyes and take a breath so I don't say something I'll regret, and then move back to my friends.

"All of our crews have been switched," I tell them quietly. "We're in different groups, in different tunnels."

Bristel's mouth drops a little. "No. They didn't! They can't."

"Of course they can," I say in a low voice. "They even changed some of our jobs. Sam Youngberg's not even a crew leader anymore."

Neither of them reply, just send me looks of twin astonishment, like they can't possibly find the words to explain what they want to say. Sam's been a crew leader for close to 10 years. This demotion- it's unheard of.

After a moment, Thom just nods, a half-smile rising to his face like it always does when he's worried. "It'll- it'll be fine. We're just going to have to get used to it, I guess."

But still, no one else talks, and the silence is ominous.

In a coal mine, a man has to depend on his crew. If even one member of the group is lazy or not thorough about every single thing that he/she does, they could singlehandedly bring about the deaths of everyone else in their crew- or in the whole mine. It's dangerous, but I have to hand it to whoever came up with the plan- it's brilliant.

The people you're closest to are always the ones in your crew. By separating everyone into new groups, with people who may or may not support the Capitol, any chance of any form of rebellion becomes almost nonexistent.

And people in my new crew- especially one of the women- keep glaring at me like I personally offend them, like I'm the cause of this new, stricter regime. Which is stupid, but I understand. When there's a problem like this, people are always going to want to find someone to blame. I just wish they would stop turning me into their enemy.

And to make matters worse, now I don't even get to see the few friends I have. The only time I see Bristel and Thom is on the short walk to and from the mine, and the rest of the week is used up. Monday through Saturday: mine. Sunday: teach. Repeat.

Sundays, in their own way, are actually kind of nice. Despite it being _more_ work, at least it's something I enjoy. We don't go into the woods, of course, since those are actually being guarded now, so every trap I construct is built out of whatever I can find in the Victor's Village.

Katniss and I talk still, but I can feel her distancing herself from me, and it takes me a little while to decide if she's doing it on purpose or if it's just a natural result of the shock of being forced to be a Tribute again. When we have conversations, it feels a little like I'm talking to a stranger.

No, not a stranger. Really, it feels like I'm talking to the Katniss that I knew before we became friends, back when even being partners while hunting was difficult for us. There's a sort of tenseness in the air, always hanging between us, pushing us further apart from each other. I know for her, part of it is that now she knows how I feel about her and doesn't know how to respond to it. But a lot of it is the ever-present possibility of her death in the near future. And while it hurts to feel like I barely know her, I can't exactly blame her for it. If I was in her place, I wouldn't want to banter with friends like nothing was wrong, either.

Talking with Peeta is a little bit harder. While we've always had the same goal- to save Katniss- I hadn't really thought of him as someone I could ever truly enjoy being around. And now, despite everything, I find that I _do_ like him, that I _could_ be friends with him. And I hate it. Because I wish I _could_ hate him, sometimes. I wish I could just not care about what happens to him and only worry about Katniss- but the truth of the matter is I do worry. It's weird to think that of the three people I see every Sunday, two of them will most likely be dead in a matter of weeks.

And Haymitch- well, when he's not drunk (and he rarely is, anymore), I can actually see him as a person worth caring about. I still haven't found a way to talk to him about the rebellion, like Madge suggested, but there's something about the way he talks and the look in his eyes that's determined and hard. And I can't figure out why I've never noticed it before. We don't really have one-on-one conversations, although that's mainly because I'm not sure what I would say to him that I couldn't say to the other two.

And finally, after weeks of training, the day of the reaping arrives. It doesn't feel nearly as significant as any of the other years have, because we already know how everything is going to turn out. The same old procedures of discussing the Dark Days, reading the Treaty of Treason, and pulling the names from the Reaping Ball are followed. Effie Trinket, who has her hair dyed an annoying metallic gold (maybe it's a wig, but I don't know or care) scrambles around in the glass globe to try to grab the single slip of paper in it, and then reads off the name of the only girl entered- Katniss. The crowd is silent once again, and all I can feel is my stomach churning anxiously, worried for Katniss and the future. Getting the name out of the boys' globe is no more difficult, so when Effie reads off Haymitch's name, Peeta quickly volunteers to take his spot and the deed is done.

I stand in the crowd for the rest of the ceremony, my leg twitching with nervous energy. Suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, I'm feeling incredibly panicked. This is it. Katniss is going to fight in the Games again, and for the _second_ time in my pathetic excuse for a life, I'm worried this is the last time I'm going to see her. And I still haven't told her exactly how I feel. Not while she's conscious, anyway.

So I'm preparing what exactly I should say to her when I see her for what could potentially be our last conversation while I make my way to the Justice Building. I know I'll be one of the few people allowed to see her and Peeta, and I want to give him advice and her my love, but when I finally get to the large building, I'm surprised and a little confused to see the doors shut and barred by a long line of Peacekeepers. They are all standing sullenly with their hands gripping their guns tightly, eyes scanning the small crowd that has formed for unruly people.

I push my way up to the front, where I can see Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, standing and looking hopelessly lost. I am nearly at the steps to the building when who else should come down the stairs, stand on the edge of the crowd and start speaking then the man who nearly killed me- Head Peacekeeper Thread.

He's got to be wearing some sort of microphone because when he starts talking, it's loud enough that everyone can hear what he says even above the noise of the crowd. And even though it's not really necessary, everyone stops talking, the silence of the area making the whole situation infinitely more creepy.

"There will be no good-byes this year. The Tributes are already on their way to the Capitol. Return to your homes."

He doesn't need to say that if we don't return to our homes, the Peacekeepers who are standing there so threateningly will _force_ us to our homes, and the crowd disperses pretty quickly.

But by that time, I'm standing next to Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, both who seem too stunned to move. Prim, poor little Prim, has tears shining in her eyes, and her mother is shaking her head, a look on her face I recognize. She looks like prey sometimes do, like deer do when bright lights shine on them. Caught in the moment and unable to do anything but stand still. I grab both of their hands, knowing I have to be strong for them right now.

And Prim, who is always so strong, finally collapses into me, sobbing even though we're in the middle of the town. She's shaking, her face buried in my stomach (she's_ so_ much smaller than me). Her whole body is wracked with sobs, and I can hear her mumble in a tiny voice, "I never even got to say good-bye."

And the hurt in her voice, the raw _pain_, is enough to make tears come to my eyes, too.

We stand there for a while, me comforting both of them, until one of the Peacekeepers comes down the stairs and prods us with his gun. There's no sympathy in his voice when he orders us to go home, and because all three of us are just too weary to make any protest, we do.

I go with them to their house in the Victor's Village, and in a short amount of time, my mother comes over to help take care of the Everdeen's as well. That night, Mother and Mrs. Everdeen spend a lot of the time talking in quiet voices to each other, the conversation occasionally broken up by quiet sobs from Mrs. Everdeen.

And I'm taking care of Prim. At first I let her just cry, because to say anything would seem cruel, almost. Prim always has to be the strong one these days. I think it's the time to let her be as weak as she wants to.

The worst bit for me, anyways, is that I can't even remember the last thing Katniss said to me. When did we last talk? Last night? The night before? I want to curse myself for forgetting. I had meant to hold on to every last moment with her but I'm finding that I can't, and that scares me more than anything else. And because I'm just experiencing way too much déjà vu, and I'm feeling like we're watching the first Games all over again, _and_ I'm feeling guilty that I'm worrying about myself when Prim needs me so much more, finally I say, "Prim. You'll see her again. You know she can do it."

Prim looks up at me, her eyes red and puffy from the tears. She doesn't say anything.

I keep talking, letting her snuggle against me while we sit on the couch. "You know Katniss. When she wants something, she won't rest until she has it." A pause. "Remember how she got you Lady?" Right now I'm just trying to cheer her up, and I know I'm on the right track because Prim's eyes get a little happier at the thought of her goat. I keep talking. "At first I thought it was a pretty stupid idea because Lady was so hurt. Even though I didn't say anything to her, I actually thought it was a better idea for the goat to wind up in someone's stew. Preferably mine." I admit, and Prim lets out a little giggle, sniffling to make her tears go away. "But Katniss was so _sure_ you could fix her and would love her, and so despite how obviously injured Lady was, despite the fact that if the goat died, she was making a _horrible_ business deal, she got you your goat. And you know what? She turned out to be right about everything." At this, the ghost of a smile rises to Prim's face. "Katniss is very stubborn. And if she wants to come home, she will."

"You think so?" Prim whispers.

"She loves you too much to not come home," I tell her, trying to convince myself of the truth of what I'm saying. "I know so."

Prim's eyes are wide with hope and finally she just wraps her arms around me and hugs me. "Thank you," she whispers.

After my mother and I make sure they're fed and cared for and in bed and are capable to take care of themselves, we walk home in the cool night air quietly. It's late and while I'm sad and worried, I'm also incredibly angry. Angry that the Capitol can get away with this, angry (and I know that it's not fair of me) that now I have another family to care for, angry that anyone has ever made little Prim cry. And it's all I can do not to scream out loud.

I keep clenching and unclenching my fists and finally my mother just reaches over and grabs my hand. She doesn't say anything at first, but as we walk into our house, which is lit by candlelight because the electricity has gone out _again,_ she whispers, "Please don't do anything stupid."

I know she's thinking about my temper and how badly I want a rebellion, and I'm about to reply angrily when I think of Prim's teary, hopeful face. And I know I won't do anything stupid because I need to be there for her, to take care of her, to make sure she's okay.

My narrowed eyes meet my mother's kind ones, and finally I nod.

The next day, I have to go to the mines and work, as usual.

The day's over and I'm just picking up my things so I can go to the elevator and go home. As I make my way to the end of the tunnel, all I want is to be left alone. I've been unusually quiet today- too much on my mind and no one to discuss it with, and no one I'd want to discuss it with, anyway.

But somehow, things just don't work out the way I want them to. Because as I'm getting ready to leave, there's a group of the miners from my new crew standing around, and as I pass by them on my way out, I can hear them whispering. It's clear they don't want anyone to hear what they're saying, but their whisperings are loud enough that I can hear every word.

"It's all because of that stunt last year, with the berries. Trying to kill themselves- what were they thinking?" It's a woman speaking, and I freeze, sure they're talking about Katniss and Peeta. It would look too strange for me to just stand there listening to their private conversation for any more than a moment, so I bend down where I am slowly to tie my boot.

"All they are is trouble," adds a man.

The next person to speak doesn't even bother lowering his voice. It's full of anger and an obnoxious superiority. "If she wasn't about to die, I'd kill her myself. That-" he lets out a particularly foul string of names, and I feel my jaw clench, that familiar anger rushing through my veins. No one talks about Katniss like that. Especially not now that she's gone. But the man keeps talking. "She's the reason we have no food, more work, less money, more punishments. I say, good riddance."

I stand up, almost shaking with anger. I want to go say something, I want them to shut up and just _stop talking about her._ I walk up to the circle of people and before I can stop myself, the words just sort of… slip out.

"Katniss Everdeen," I say slowly, my voice trembling with barely controlled rage, "is the only hope any of us have." My eyes meet each of theirs, and that's when I realize exactly who I'm talking to. The man the insulted Katniss? Yeah, it turns out that that's Lucien Allsbright. _The_ Lucien Allsbright, who already openly despises me. Oh well. "She escaped the Capitol once already, tricked them into letting her live. How many of you can say that?"

There's a moment while none of them speak, an almost ashamed silence. Finally one woman mutters, "Yeah. But they got her back for it, didn't they? She's in the Games again now." The woman's voice is bland.

"And she's going to win." I say strongly. The miners look doubtful.

Finally, lousy Lucien speaks up. "And so what if she does? What does that really mean for us? More moldy food? MORE punishments? More attention from the Capitol, more starving people?" His voice is arrogant. "If she wins, _nothing_ good will come of it. So really it makes more sense to hope she dies, and quickly. At least maybe then they'll leave our district alone."

"Then you're a coward and a fool," I snap back. His expression is full of outrage and anger at my insolence, but I don't care. "If you're moronic enough to blame Katniss for all of our problems, feel free." My voice drops an octave, dangerously low. "As for me, I know who the real enemy is."

And because that's a treasonous thing for me to think let alone speak out loud, and I really have nothing left to say to these stupid, stupid people, I turn and stalk away, afraid that if I stay any longer I'm going to do something drastic and unintelligent. As I leave, I can feel Lucien's eyes boring into my back.

I certainly haven't made any friends today.

The next day is really no better than the day before. Still no news about Katniss, nothing even on television, so I really have nothing to do but mine and worry.

It's almost the end of the day, and most people have already clocked out and gone home. But I need to finish transporting one more load of the raw coal and then I'm free to go.

I've pretty much kept to myself all day because I'm still thinking about Katniss and the Games and I've got so much going through my head that I don't want to have to talk to anyone or put up with any comments about the Quell.

So I'm trying to mind my own business and get my work done as quickly and efficiently as possible because I need to get home and take care of Posy, who's sick _again_, when a voice calls to me. "Hey, Hawthorne."  
"Yeah?" I stop shoveling the large pile of coal, turn around to figure out who's talking to me, and see it's Lucien Allsbright, the miner who decided he didn't like me weeks ago, the same one I provoked yesterday. He's leaning against one of the dark walls of the shaft, his arms crossed over his chest. Sam Youngberg's words to me run through my mind: how he warned me about Lucien, and then his gentle urging, _"Yeah, well, I'm just saying, be careful. Please."_

So far I haven't really needed to follow this bit of advice because Lucien hasn't even spoken to me since yesterday, but when I look around and notice that everyone else from my crew has already left the tunnel, I tense up. This seems wrong to me- really, really wrong. I shouldn't be in here on my own. My eyes dart around the tunnel. There's only one exit from where I'm standing and it's right past Lucien- there's no way I can get out without acknowledging him.

Usually, I don't need to worry about other people physically harming me because I'm so physically imposing myself. I'm about six and a half feet tall, but Lucien is just as big and just as strong. Also, if, like I suspect, he's still angry at me, he could do just about anything he wants to me down here and nobody would know. Fighting in the mines is illegal, of course, but I somehow doubt this will phase Lucien in the slightest.

He moves away from the wall, his eyes locking on mine. "You and I have some unfinished business to take care of," he says almost lazily. The tone in his voice is dangerous and suddenly I'm _sure_ he's mad at me.

I tighten my grip on the shovel. It's the closest thing down here that I have to a weapon, and maybe I'm over-reacting, but my hunting instincts are telling me that I am in danger and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.

I try to respond as steadily as I can. "Actually, I'm pretty sure any business between us is done." Lucien is still watching me, his dark, almost-black eyes on me. I take a step closer to the side of the tunnel that he's not on, the shovel still held tightly in my hands.

"And that's where we disagree," he says, and the tone of his voice is enough to send shivers up my spine. He takes a step forward, pushing aside the single, dangling light bulb that illuminates the tunnel. Beams of dusty light are sent spinning around the tunnel, falling across first a wall, then Lucien's grinning face, then a wall again. I hate myself for it, but I take a step back, really frightened now. "You see, yesterday you insulted me, Hawthorne, and I never got a chance to return the favor."

The light bulb settles back down so I can see normally again, and I say in a light tone, "Oh. Well, no worries then. I really don't expect anything in return."

I'm debating if I can run faster than Lucien or not, and now I'm leaning forward on the balls of my feet, ready to sprint if I have to. If I can just get past him and get to the elevator first, I should be fine. Just get to the elevator.

"But Hawthorne," he says, dark eyes gleaming. His hand is reaching into his tool belt and for the first time, I can see the glint of metal as he draws out a knife. My heart stops for a moment, and then I feel the adrenaline coming on. "_Someone_ has to teach you to respect your elders."

Um, woah. Where did he even _get_ that knife? Miners don't really use knives, and we're checked for weapons every day. So unless Lucien bribed someone powerful, which I bet he didn't, he-

But that thought gets cut off because suddenly I don't care _how_ he got a knife, I just care that he has one and is trying to carve me up.

There's a moment then while neither of us move, each waiting for the other to make the first move. The air is tense, and his eyes dart to my shovel and mine move to his knife, and then we both look at each other. Lucien shoots me one last distorted grin and lifts his hand to the light bulb, punching it.

There's a tinkling of glass as the bulb shatters.

And then the lights go out, and we're immersed in the blackness of the mine.

We move at the exact same time.

I dash towards where I think he is, my shovel swinging as he moves towards me, slashing out with his knife. I can feel my shovel connect with him (I'm not sure where, maybe his chest?) and he lets out a groan of pain and I think he crumbles for a second, but I can also feel blood spilling out of my arm from where his knife grazed me. It's not a deep cut but it hurts, and I take advantage of the opportunity I've given myself and sprint to the mouth of the tunnel, my feet slipping on the slick ground. It's dark and I have no idea where Lucien is.

I haven't let go of the shovel yet, which is slowing me down, but I don't want to drop it in case it turns out that he's faster than me. Because if it turns out he can catch me and I'm weaponless, they'll literally have to scrape my remains off of the walls. I have no doubt in my mind that Lucien can and will hurt me.

Pretty soon I'm back where there are working light bulbs, and I'm grateful for the light, no matter how dim. I'm turning corners as fast as I can, skidding around the sharp turns, and the whole time Lucien is right behind me. I half-expect him to start yelling, but he doesn't, which in some ways is worse than if he did. The only sound I can hear is breathing- mine and his.

He's getting too close for comfort now, and even though it may turn out to be a stupid decision, I drop the shovel. I know Lucien wasn't expecting me to, and I can hear him trip over it. I don't even turn around to see what's happening. I just run faster towards the elevator, my mind racing. There has to be some way to get out of this mess.

And finally, there it is- the elevator, metallic and old and small and I'm feeling so, so relieved. If I can just open it and get in before Lucien catches up to me-

I pound on the button to bring the elevator down to me and I can see Lucien's form get nearer and nearer and now I realize just how stupid it was for me to drop the shovel. It looks like the elevator isn't going to get down to me any time soon. Lucien and I really are going to have to deck it out and he has a knife and I have _nothing_.

He slows to a walk, his knife pointed out at me. His breathing is still light, like he could keep running forever if he wants to.

"Well. It wasn't very polite of you to run away," he drawls.

Part of me wants to roll my eyes at his ridiculous bravado, but another part of me is seriously terrified for my life. This guy is taking out his anger on the wrong person, and something makes me wonder if Lucien is entirely sane.

I raise my eyebrows. "It wasn't very polite of you to pull a knife on me."

Lucien ignores this comment and his eyes rise to the elevator shaft. "You know that elevator is never going to come in time, right?" When I don't answer, he comes closer to me, and I step closer to the shaft. I really don't want to get knifed today.

Unfortunately, Lucien has other plans. He lunges at me, his knife swooping in. I jump out of the way but not fast enough, and it digs into my leg in a sweeping slash. But when Lucien swings in again, I'm ready for him.

I grab his wrist and wrestle the knife out of his hands, so it lands on the floor on the edge of the elevator shaft. The shaft goes down a lot further than where we are right now, but because of cave-ins on the lower floors, the elevator doesn't go any deeper than this 'floor'. Lucien and I both scramble towards the knife, me on my hands and knees. I don't know how I manage it but I get there first.

And without even thinking about it, I push the knife so it falls off the ledge, into the shaft. The silver glints as it disappears into the darkness of the lower levels.

I allow myself a brief moment of triumph as I get to my feet, but Lucien's cry of anger brings me back into reality.

And then I feel hands barrel forcefully into the small of my back. I stumble forward, trying to catch myself from falling while shockwaves of pain travel up and down my spine, phantom hurt from my whipping making me wince.

When he moves to punch me again, I grab his arm and force him to the ground, but he pulls me down with him and soon we're on the ground, punching each other. I can see the elevator coming down and I'm trying to figure out a way to make sure I get on it and _he_ doesn't. In a quick moment it lands, and I know I'm so close to getting away and being safe that I can survive these last few moments.

But because the elevator distracted me, Lucien takes the opportunity to punch my jaw, hard, and somehow I work up the strength to literally throw him off of me so he hits the far wall of the shaft. He lies there, groaning, while I get to my feet as fast as I can and rush inside the elevator.

And now I'm pressing the up button frantically, hoping the door will shut fast enough to keep Lucien out and me in. The metallic door begins to close, but it's doing it so slowly that I'll be lucky if it shuts within the year.

Lucien gets to his feet, snarling, and rushes to the door, which is now about half-closed. But he doesn't get there fast enough. The door just barely shuts all the way when I can feel Lucien crashing into it. And then the elevator is rising, and I'm safe. For now.

I slump against the far door of the elevator, breathing heavily.

I'm cut on my arm, which isn't too bad, and on my leg, which is bleeding incredibly. I'm also fairly sure that tomorrow I'll have a black eye, but that doesn't worry me too much. I'm really just glad I'm alive.

From now on, I have to be more careful. It doesn't even cross my mind to report Lucien- I'm not a rat, _especially_ not to the Peacekeepers. Lucien is too smart to attack me in broad daylight, surrounded by witnesses. But I can't _ever_ be the last one out of the mines anymore, and I need to make sure I'm never alone when I'm down there working. It's too dangerous.

I'm such an idiot. If I keep this up, I really _am_ going to get myself killed from my own hot-headedness.

Right before the elevator door opens, I smooth down my dark mining uniform and take a deep breath. No one can know about what just happened- especially not my family. They'll only worry more than they need to. Somehow, I'm going to have to change my clothes quickly before I get home and maybe even stitch my leg up on my own. It's not that hard- just kind of messy. And my leg is definitely going to scar.

I clock out and hang my tool belt up, my uniform still covered in blood. If the Peacekeepers who are guarding the main building see, they certainly don't care.

And then, with blood still leaking from my leg, I limp home.


	8. Chapter 8

After last night's little fiasco with Lucien, it turns out that there is now good news and bad news in my life.

The good news? It turns out that I don't need stitches. When I finally washed the blood off of my leg, I discovered that the cut wasn't as deep as I thought it was, and as long as I keep it wrapped, it should be perfectly fine, if a little painful.

The bad news? My eye is definitely blackened, and I have absolutely no way to explain it to my mother. Or my siblings. Or any of the other miners. Which, I know is going to end up being a problem.

Actually, wait. It already is.

"Gale! Your eye! What happened to you?" My mother practically shrieks. It's morning, right as I'm about to leave for work, and I wince. I hadn't intended for her to see my face- I've been sneaking around our house all morning, trying to make sure that no one could see my eye so no one could ask about it- but somehow she must have caught a glimpse of it, and now she's _mad._

For a split second I'm tempted to just walk out the door and pretend that I didn't hear her, but there is physically no way I didn't hear that. The volume and pitch of my mother's voice were almost off the charts. Besides, Rory and Vick are sitting at the table, and _they_ both know that I heard her, too. Judging by the curious expression on Rory's face, I know the two of them are going to bother me as soon as I get home anyway, asking me questions until I finally get annoyed enough to answer. We all know it will work, too, since it's worked in the past. Recognizing that there's absolutely no way I can avoid talking about this, I sigh, straighten up, and turn to look at her.

"It's nothing, Mom. Honest," I begin resignedly, but she's not listening. She's drying a plate on an old, worn towel, rubbing furiously as she begins her rant.

"You promised me you wouldn't do anything stupid! Do you just take pleasure in ignoring me? I mean, I know that you're upset, and understandably so, but I specifically asked you not to-"

"Mom," I start, but she's still talking louder than me, "Mom!"

Finally she stops and stares at me, her face a little red but her eyebrows raised. Vick at least has the decency to try and act like he doesn't know what's going on, but Rory is watching our conversation eagerly, desperate to hear some news. My mother doesn't say anything, but gives me an expression that I've seen so often I know right away what it means. She's telling me that I had better start explaining before she explodes again.

"Look, it wasn't anything stupid," I reassure her, even though I'm lying through my teeth. "Thom accidentally elbowed me in the face yesterday. It wasn't on purpose, it wasn't me being an idiot, and it wasn't a fight. It was just an accident."

My mother scrutinizes my face, trying to decide if I'm telling the truth or not. "You know I'm going to ask Thom about this, right?"

I throw my hands up in the air. "Fine, ask him! Just stop treating me like I'm some sort of criminal because honestly, this isn't as big a deal as you're making it!"

"Then why were you trying to hide it from me?"

"Because I knew you'd react like this!" I say, exasperated.

"I wouldn't have if you'd just _told_ me what had happened-"

"Yes, you would have," I interrupt. "We both know that whatever I tell you, you're not going to believe me, no matter how true it is!"

We just stare at each other for a moment, and finally my mother sighs. "I'm- I'm sorry, Gale." Her eyes drop to the floor for a moment, and then when she looks up at me, her expression is such that I'm overcome with a sudden wave of guilt. She looks so- so tired, and careworn and I know a lot of that weariness is from worry about _me_. "It's just… you remind me so much of him. And it's just the sort of thing he would do… it's hard for me, sometimes. Separating the two of you in my head."

My mother doesn't need to say his name for me to know who she's talking about. My father.

And because what I'm doing is so contrary to anything my father would ever have had me do- he would _never_ have let me lie to my mother- I feel even more guilty than I did a moment ago. I open my mouth to explain, to fix my lie, to apologize, but something holds me back and my apologies stay firmly lodged in my throat.

My mother puts her hand on my shoulder, smiling softly at me. "You're a good kid, you know that?"

I can't respond. I'm feeling too much like the scum of the earth right now, but luckily my mother doesn't notice. "I love you," she says, and I don't know how, but I manage to choke out, "I love you too."

When I glance over to see Rory and Vick, Vick's still looking innocently unaware of what's going on, and Rory looks vaguely disappointed with the explanation I've offered about how I got a black eye. I think he was hoping for some sort of glorious war story of me narrowly escaping a brush with death, which, to be fair, is what happened, but still.

"Just don't forget, today's another mandatory viewing," my mother says, apparently having moved on from our argument already. I'm grateful for the change of topic because lying to my mother was absolutely horrible. I mean, I would have told her the truth, but I didn't want to make her worry any more than she already does. It was an act of kindness.

So why do I feel so terrible?

"It's the opening ceremonies," she adds, and now she's talking to Rory and Vick more than she's talking to me. After all, I'm hardly about to forget the day that Katniss gets presented to the world for the second time, now am I? Besides, I'm going to still be at work for the viewing. "So I want the two of you home directly after school."

"Stupid," Rory mutters, looking down at the table. "I'd almost rather be at school." Which is really saying something, because Rory considers school to be his own personal prison.

Our mom frowns, her eyebrows drawn together with worry. "Oh, Rory, don't say things like that."

"But they're true," he mumbles, and then, once he sees my expression, shuts his mouth.

After a meager breakfast for everyone else and nothing for me, I start walking to the mine, just like any other day, and try to ignore the stares people keep sending my way. I know they're just curious about my black eye, but for some inexplicable reason, it annoys me. Let them stare, let them wonder. It's not like I'm about to tell them what happened, and I don't think Lucien's going to be bragging about it either.

But when Bristel and Thom see it when I meet up with them at the entrance to the mine, both of them start asking question at once, interrupting each other to ask me how I got hurt.

I give Thom a pointed glance. There are crowds of miners in the building, signing in, looking at the crew charts, and I say quietly, "You elbowed me in the face yesterday. Don't you remember?"

Thom instantly understands and lets out a very convincing laugh. "Oh, that. I didn't think it would bruise. But honestly, Gale, you shouldn't have been standing in my way-"

"And you should have watched what you were doing with your elbow," I return.

Bristel frowns as the three of us enter the elevator together, and he speaks under his breath. "That never happened. Gale, seriously, what did you do?"

The elevator doors close, and both Thom and I drop our smiles. When I don't respond, all three of us remain silent for a moment longer. Finally Thom just says, "Lucien?"

I take it as a mark of our friendship that he knew what happened and is thoughtful enough not to say anything more about it. I nod, and then we're in silence once more.

"You need to be more careful," he finally says. "Lucien has some connections with people high up. Like Thread."

"I hear even Aspen's been corrupted," Bristel adds, and I nod again. I've heard these rumors too, that the Director of Mining and Natural Resources has completely gone against his reputation. That he's stopped being fair, stopped caring about the health of the miners at all, and that he's started taking bribes from some of the merchant class. And of course it would be my luck that the one person I manage to completely make my enemy has every connection necessary to make sure I die in the mines.

Great.

Seriously, that's just dandy.

"Don't worry, I'm watching out for myself," I tell them. "I'm not worried about Lucien-" which is another gigantic _lie-_ "I just want to make sure no one else gets hurt." (Which is true.)

Bristel and Thom exchange a quick glance and then both look at me as the doors open at their level.

"Be careful," Bristel says solemnly.

"Don't die," is Thom's cheerful goodbye, and before I can say anything, the elevator doors shut and I'm left alone, travelling deeper and deeper into the heart of the mine.

The next few hours pass so slowly that it seems to me like time has practically slowed to a crawl. Not even a crawl, a trickle. Like it's barely moving, like there never has nor ever will be anything more than me and this shovel and this mine.

And I'm saying right now, if I have to look at one more chunk of raw, unrefined coal, I swear I'm going to kill someone.

And it's not going to be a simple, "oh-hey-look-your-dead" sort of murder, either, it's going to be something so violent and terrible that President Snow himself will cringe.

And, yes, that _is_ possible.

At least, I'm reasonably sure it is. I haven't actually hit on anything that brilliantly gruesome yet, but I know I will eventually, especially given the fact that that's all I've been thinking about since I started work today.

Murder, I mean.

It's such a weird word. Murder. Say it too fast and it sounds almost ridiculous, getting stuck on your lips until it doesn't even resemble a word anymore. Hear it, almost anyone would shiver, thinking of something violent and bloody and full of rage. Commit it, and that person's either going to be thrown into prison or killed themself, depending on where they live.

Every time the Games start again, I think about it, but this year it's worse than usual. What I really want to know is, what's the difference between killing and murdering?

I mean, I know what the word "kill" means- to make dead. To cause something else to cease to live. Killing is when I set a snare for a rabbit and it gets stuck in it and dies. Killing is when Katniss shoots a squirrel with an arrow and we take it home to eat. Killing is when a fish gets caught on one of our hooks and we take it out of the water and it can't breathe, so it dies. That's killing.

But what, exactly, constitutes a murder?

For instance, say Lucien were to attack me again, and I had to fight back. If he somehow ended up dead, and it was my fault, would that be a killing, or a murder?

Not that I'm planning on killing Lucien, or anything. I'm not some sort of barbaric maniacal blood-thirsty killer. I'm just wondering. After all, this has to be the question Katniss and Peeta- and all of the other Victors- ask themselves every day.

Did they commit murder, or was it all just self-defense?

Personally, I don't think they murdered anyone. I don't even see them as _killing_ anyone. Sure, they were the direct cause of someone else's death, but in my eyes, the only ones at fault are the Gamemakers and the Capitol citizens who actually take some sort of perverse _pleasure_ out of watching little kids die. They're the guilty ones.

But in my case… I don't think there'd be anyone to be blamed besides me. And the thing that I think worries me more than anything else is the fact that I'm not entirely sure I _care._ Because when it comes down to it, if it's a choice between Lucien living and me living, I know which life I'm going to want to preserve more. I don't even think I'd feel bad about it.

Which is probably horrible, but there you have it. Before Katniss went into the Games for the first time, I told it to her straight, exactly what I believed- that there's not that big of a difference between killing an animal and killing a man. And if that man happens to be trying to kill you at the time of his death… well, then the only one that can really be blamed is himself.

There's always the possibility that if I ever end up needed to kill someone, I'll feel differently, but until that point hits- _if_ it ever hits- I'm pretty set in my opinion.

As it is, it doesn't even matter, because the chances of me ever needing to kill anyone at all are so slim it's almost ridiculous. Anyway, I already have a long enough list to think about, without needing to worry about this idiotic hypothetical situation. Lucien's mad but I don't think he's _that_ crazy; he's not going to try to kill me. Maybe he'll try to hurt me a little bit more, but honestly, I think I can handle that much. Even last night, he wasn't actually attempting to _kill_ me.

Right?

The opening ceremonies of the Games are broadcast while I'm at work in the mine, and every miner gets called off on break to watch it. I'll be honest, the rest from mining is a relief, but I'm as tense as ever as I look for Katniss on the screen.

All of the Tributes look so much older and stronger than she and Peeta do- with the exception of two Tributes who are clearly addicted to some form of drug, and an old woman who seems hardly able to stand- and speaking as someone who's had to watch many of these Victors' Games, I know that this year is going to be even more difficult than last year. Which sounds impossible, but isn't. After all, everyone going into these Games is a Victor, which means that they're all accomplished killers. Some, though, I'm more worried about than others.

There's Finnick Odair, for one. A shining beacon of the Capitol's corrupt nature, he's gained a reputation for immorality that rivals almost anyone else I've ever heard of. But his Games- I was eight years old when he competed and won, and I remember it vividly. Put a trident in his hands and he could kill anyone.

Then there's a pair of siblings from District 1, Cashmere and Gloss- both of which are idiotic names- who I also remember because they won in consecutive years when my dad was still alive.

A woman named Enobaria from District 2, though, is the one I'm worried about the most. She became famous when she killed a fellow Tribute by ripping their throat out- with her _teeth._ The first time I saw her Games, I was five years old. I had nightmares for a week.

The only way I can think that Katniss will be able to kill any of them is if she's given a bow. I'm reasonably sure she will be, but since she's the most recent Victor, all of the other Tributes are sure to know that the bow and arrows will be meant for her. And if they get to the weapon before she does, I don't know how she'll possibly survive.

Unless, by some miracle, Peeta and Haymitch convince her to make an alliance with other people. Which is doubtful, seeing Katniss will probably not be feeling particularly social during training.

In any case, Katniss and Peeta come out into the crowd last of all, and I can't tear my eyes away. She looks- well, for lack of a better word- perfect. Even some of the other workers let out gasps when the television shows her, and I don't blame them.

She's wearing this black jumpsuit that forms closely to her skin, but it's not like anything I've ever seen before. The black starts glowing, a haunting orange hue that blends into a red and then a yellow, illuminating all of the edges of the suit, flickering with all the warmth and danger of an ember. And it's so obvious that that's what she is- she and Peeta both- that I can't help but take in a sharp breath too. When their chariot parades the two of them around the ring, neither Peeta nor Katniss smile or wave. She finally gets to show everyone in the Capitol what she really is- imperious, brave, and cold.

I can't hold back a smile. It's perfect.

The miners around me erupt into whispers, and even though I can hear snatches of their conversation, I don't join in. What can I say? Who here could really understand anything I want to talk about, anyway? _I _don't even know how I'm feeling. I just know that I don't think I've ever had more conflicting emotions in my life. Looking at Katniss on the screen, I'm filled with this intense, burning anger towards everyone and anyone who is keeping her away from me and Prim and her mother. But I'm also filled with something strangely close to pride, a knowing sort of joy that this is _my_ Katniss and everyone is finally getting to see the person I've known for so long. This Katniss I know, _know_ will survive.

When the Opening Ceremonies are finally over, it's late, almost night, but despite that, all of us miners have to work an extra hour to make up for the hour we missed while watching the Games. My mother won't be worried because this happens often, but I won't be able to pick up Madge's newspaper today. Hopefully Rory will get it for me- he usually does, now- because I am desperate to see what the people in the Capitol have to say about the Games this year.

As I leave the crowd of miners to return to my tunnel, someone walks into me, practically pinning me into the dirt wall of the tunnel I'm already in. I turn my head and see Lucien.

Great.

I don't say anything right away, waiting for him to speak. For a moment there's silence between us and all I can hear is my own breathing, loud and a little shallow. I'm trying to convince myself that Lucien won't try anything now. There are people around, lots and lots of people, and he's smarter than that, unless somehow he's gotten it so no one would care if he did something horrible to me right now-

"Hawthorne, I don't think you've quite learned your lesson. I _will_ make you pay for last night," he growls. "Regardless of who I have to hurt to make sure you've learned. I know you've got little brothers. And a sister. We wouldn't want anything to happen to them, now would we?"

Is he seriously threatening my family? "Thanks for the warning," I answer. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

He sneers at me, his hand moving towards his tool belt, where I know he used to keep his knife. He doesn't have one anymore because I pushed it down the elevator shaft last night, but there's something in his belt where it was, and I don't want to think about what new weapon he might be in the possession of now.

I tense, ready to run if I have to, but just as Lucien opens his mouth to speak, I feel a hand on my shoulder and see Lucien drop his arm.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" asks a familiar voice. It's Sam Youngberg, one of my father's best friends and my old crew leader. He looks exhausted and thinner than usual, and even his voice sounds weary.

"No sir," says Lucien, the 'sir' coming out like an insult, mocking and rude. He's deliberately reminding Sam that Sam is no longer a crew leader, and Lucien is. "Just giving young Hawthorne here a few pointers."

"If that's all, both of you need to get back to work." He pauses just long enough for both Lucien and I to nod, and then his eyes meet mine. "Hawthorne, a word."

Sam starts walking off already and I follow after him without glancing back at Lucien, although I can still feel his angry eyes boring into my back.

Sam leads me to my proper tunnel, finally pulling me into an offshoot that's totally empty. Sure of our privacy, he speaks. "I thought I told you to be careful around him." In the flickering electric light from the lamps, I can see the sorrow in his eyes for the first time, and the pain is so intense I almost take a step backwards.

"Yes sir," I reply, deciding for once just to listen and not argue. I remember that Sam's daughter has died recently- she starved- and I know that Sam doesn't deserve to be burdened by any of my troubles. There's a moment, then I say truthfully what I should have said ages ago, "I'm sorry about your daughter."

His whole expression turns haunted, and to my embarrassment, his eyes start to water and shine. I know his wife died years ago, and besides her, his daughter was the only family that he had. The agony exuding from him thickens, and it feels like such a personal moment that I half wish I could turn away.

"She was a good girl," he says softly.

"One day, they'll pay for this," I assure him, my voice husky and choked. Neither of us need to explain who "They" are. And I know they _will_ pay for everything. For the starving Districts, the Games, taking away my life, granting no one their opportunities, hurting Sam, hurting Katniss.

"I'm confident that God will punish them for their crimes," agrees Sam tiredly.

"I'm not talking about God."

"In that case…" Sam shakes his head. "There's been so much violence already. It just needs to stop. No one… no one should hurt this much. No one should ever feel this way. Like there's no point to living."

My voice gets a little feverish. "That's why we need it." A rebellion. "Now more than ever."

"It's not going to happen." Sam shakes his head, and when I try to reply, he cuts me off. "Gale. Forget about it. Just… just finish your work, and then go home." His voice softens. "You should be with your family tonight."

Of course. Because tonight might be one of the last nights the girl I love will be alive.

"Yes sir," I repeat. I pause, then, remembering that Sam no longer has any family, say, "But in case you don't have anywhere to be tonight, we'd be glad to have you over at our place. You've done so much for our family that you're always welcome." I know that my mother would agree whole-heartedly with my invitation, regardless of how little we have to spare.

Sam puts his hand on my shoulder again, gripping it tightly. "Thank you for that, but you've got enough people to feed without me at the table as well." His silvery eyes meet mine, and the agony in them is faded, but they're still overwhelmingly sad. "I keep looking at you and seeing your father instead. You remind me of him more and more every day."

My stomach is doing weird things to me now. It feels strangely light from the comparison to the best man I've ever known, but it's also churning uncomfortably because I know I don't deserve the praise.

"Thanks, Sam. That means a lot to me."

"It's true. Your father was a great man, and I see his greatness in you. But you need to promise me that-" he breaks off, his eyes searching mine as he struggles for words. Off in the distance a jackhammer rings through the thick dust of the mine and squashes the sound of the workers coughing, reminding Sam and I that we must both return to work, and soon. His voice speeds up, the words falling out of his mouth like he's running out of time to get them all said. "We both know that your father wouldn't have tolerated being treated the way you have by Lucien or the Capitol or anyone else. But you have to remember that _your father was not always right._ And in this case, it would do you good to stray from his path."

I'm almost lost for words. "You're telling me to just stand here and… and what, take it?"

He nods. "That's exactly what I'm telling you. You have a family to take care of. You have enough to worry about without adding your pride to the list. Just live to keep your family alive."

I don't know how to explain it, but there's something about his voice that feels strangely like a goodbye.

"What about you?" I ask quietly, not entirely sure what I'm asking but knowing that I need to ask it anyway.

He smiles sadly, avoiding my question. "I look forward to seeing you become the man I know you are. You'll be great one day, Gale Hawthorne."

"Sam-"

"Don't worry about me. Just- just tell your family hello for me. Especially Rory."

"I will." A pause. "He really respects you, you know." And _that's_ the understatement of the century. Rory looks up to Sam like he's a superhero, one of those mythical people that flew around and killed bad guys and saved the world.

"He's another one just like your father."

"I'll be sure to tell him that."

Sam smiles. "I'm glad. I know that you two- and Vick, and even Posy- would make your father proud. And me. You already do."

I start to respond, but he gives my shoulder one more squeeze, and then walks off, leaving me feeling strangely disturbed.

The next three days are basically uneventful. Work continues the same as it always does, and for the most part I manage to avoid confrontations with Lucien, although he still rams into me any chance he gets. For once in my life, I actually stand down and don't respond, which for some reason seems to make Lucien angrier, although he hasn't said anything more to me since Sam and I spoke.

I only get to watch highlights of the Tributes training, but when I see that both Katniss and Peeta have somehow earned themselves 12s, I know that not only have they just made themselves targets, but they've also done something ridiculously idiotic and most likely rebellious, and despite my feelings to the contrary, I'm still incredibly proud. I wish that I could know exactly what the two of them did, but they never show what goes on in the scoring sessions anyway.

It's directly after the scores are shown on television that there's a knock at the door of my house. My whole family is in the living room, seated around our battered television set. Rory and Posy are sitting on the floor, playing some hand game that she's made up, so even though we're watching Capitol propaganda, our house is filled with sporadic giggling. Even Rory ends up smiling at the fun that Posy is having, and Vick is fast asleep, his head against my mother's shoulder.

When we hear the knock, I'm the only one who's available to answer the door, and I do, standing up and wondering who it could possibly be at this hour.

The battered wooden door creaks as I pull it open.

Standing outside is a teenage girl I knew from school. She's actually rather pretty- another person who's clearly from the Seam, just like me- and I know that before I met Katniss I had actually considered dating her. I think I kissed her once, long ago on a slag heap, but I can't really remember. To make matters worse, I can't seem to remember her name. It's something to do with plants, I think. I feel bad about it, of course, but everything from before Katniss is kind of a blur in my mind, and anyway, I haven't really talked with this girl since I was fourteen years old.

Luckily, though, she starts speaking right away, her eyes getting wide but a little relieved upon seeing me, obviously not realizing that I can't remember for the life of me who she is.

"Gale! You need to come quick, I'm sorry to interrupt your family and the Games and everything- well, not sorry about that, really, but I didn't know who else to go to since he doesn't have any family anymore and I figured you might be-"

"Woah, slow down, what are you talking about?" I interrupt, grabbing her shoulders and making her look at me. Her eyes are the exact same shade and shape as mine, and the only difference between them is that hers are flustered and desperate, and mine are, I'm sure, confused.

"It's Sam," she blurts. "He's my neighbor, and he's in trouble."

"Let me get my jacket," I say automatically, and I do.

Once I'm inside, though, my mother asks, "Who was that?"

I don't exactly answer her question since I can't remember the girl's name- it starts with an S (Sunflower? Salvia?)- but I say, "Apparently he needs some help."

Rory's eyes brighten, and he stands up. "I'm going with you."

"Uh-" I begin.

"Don't be ridiculous, Gale. If Sam needs help, of course Rory can go." My mom says. "We owe it to him."

I sigh, feeling that something really bad has happened and that maybe it'd be best for Rory to stay home, but finally I say, "All right. Let's get going then."

As the girl- Sage! That's her name- leads us to the house just a few streets away, she's chattering anxiously, explaining the situation.

Apparently, she saw him go into his house when he came home from the mines today, and about half an hour later she heard things crashing around inside. Worried, she went over to check on him, and when he didn't answer the door she thought that maybe he'd gotten hurt somehow.

My stomach is twisting in a knot, telling me that something terrible is going on, although I won't let myself listen to it.

Sam is fine. He has to be, because he's too _good_ for bad things to happen to. And I don't care how naïve that sounds. It's just… Sam's lost enough already.

We're at his house now, and it's slightly smaller than mine. The old wood of the walls is splitting and coated in coal dust, so the whole house is stained black, and I rap on the door sharply with my knuckles.

"Sam? Sam!" I call. Expecting no answer and receiving none, I turn to Rory. "All right, we've got to break it down. You and me."

He nods seriously. "How?"

"On the count of three, we need to ram our shoulders into it."

"Okay."

I begin the count and Sage stands apart from my brother and I, twisting her hands together nervously.

When I hit three, both Rory and I throw ourselves at the door. It splinters open to reveal a dark and quiet house, an impenetrable wall of blackness.

"Sam?" Rory calls out tentatively.

I feel around the inside of the doorway for a light switch and press it. The single bulb in the main room flickers on, illuminating an empty room. There's a ratty old chair and a dirty rug, as well as a photograph of Sam's family- himself, his wife, and their daughter- that's resting on the small, hand-carved wooden table.

"I'm going to look around," Rory says quietly. I nod absently, fingering the picture. It reminds me so much of my family- the look in Sam's eyes as he looks lovingly towards his wife- that it make my heart hurt a little.

Sage comes up behind me, looking at the picture too. "She's lovely," she says.

"She's dead." I know I sound bitter but for a moment I can't help but think about how in my experience, anyway, beautiful things always seem to die.

And it's just when Sage is about to answer me that I hear Rory cry out. He sounds so scared that Sage and I exchange a brief glance, and then we both immediately run to the single bedroom that is attached to the main one.

Rory's standing outside of it, pointing his finger and gaping.

"He- he- you've got to get him down, Gale, he can't breathe, he -"

Rory is stammering, speaking in a terrified murmur, and I know that whatever he's seen is _bad_, and he sounds a little in shock.

I take a quick breath to prepare myself, then push the door open slowly.

Inside is a dark shape, hanging from the ceiling. It's twisting in the air, revolving like a dancer doing a slow waltz with their lover, winding and then unwinding in tiny half-turns.

In the dim light that's spilling in from the main room, I can just make out that there's something wrapped around the upper part of the shape and a rafter of the ceiling, and it looks suspiciously like a mining uniform. And that's when I can't deny the truth anymore.

Sam Youngberg is dead.


	9. Chapter 9

_Note: Hey, everyone. I just wanted to say thank you for still reading and reviewing this, even though I'm possibly the slowest updater to ever live, in the history of the universe. Your thoughts and words of encouragement really do mean a lot to me, so thank you so much for letting me know what you think. You're all amazing. Incredibly so. :)_

_Oh, and for the record, I actually have most of the next chapter already written, so this time my update really will be a lot quicker. Hopefully in the next week or so. Anyway, enjoy, and let me know what you think! _

Rory isn't handling the news very well.

He hasn't spoken a single word to anyone since we found Sam's body, and it's been almost a full day. A full day of mining on my part, and of my mother trying to handle the fallout from the death. There won't be a funeral- the peacekeepers already came for his body- and Sam didn't leave a will or anything, so I had the terrible job of going into his house last night and taking what I thought might be worth having. Unfortunately, though, there wasn't really much that was useful. Since the Hob was burned down, I can't sell any of it, and anyway, most of what Sam owned, we already have. Among the few things I did take, however, is the picture of Sam and his wife. That, I thought, deserved to be treated a little better than to be left in a frame to rot in a house that lingered with the scents and thought of death.

I know Rory isn't pleased that I took anything at all from Sam's house, though he hasn't said anything outright. I just know he isn't happy because he won't look at any of it, won't even leave our room. I don't think Rory has been this quiet _ever_, in his entire life, and if I'm being entirely honest, it scares me a little. Rory's supposed to be unfazed by everything- it's what makes him who he is.

Prim came over to our house as soon as she heard about Sam's death, although I've got no clue as to how she found out. She didn't even bother knocking on the door, just pushed her way inside and went to talk to Rory. I don't know what she said to him and I don't know how much it actually helped, because both she and Rory ended up skipping school today, under the plausible pretense that they're sick. I don't blame them. The two of them have spent a lot of time sitting together against the wall next to our front door, not saying anything. He's still upset about Sam, obviously, and she's still worrying about Katniss, and even though nothing that's wrong can be fixed, they've at least still got each other. Prim didn't go home until a while after I got back from the mines, and then Rory shut himself in our room and that was the last of him I've seen since then.

I wish there was something I could say to make it better, but the fact of the matter is that Rory's hero is dead. _And_ that he most likely killed himself. Which is something I still can't explain away.

For a brief amount of time I seriously questioned whether or not someone might have killed him- Lucien or one of his cronies being at the top of the list, of course. But after seriously looking at the body, remembering how we found it, even I can't deny it was suicide. Which somehow makes everything worse.

Everyone in our house has had red-rimmed eyes today, except for Posy, who's spent a lot of the time since we found the body walking around the house, looking worried.

"Mommy's sad?" She asks me in a whisper, looking towards our mom with a frown etched on her small face. It's after work- I didn't even see Lucien today, so no worries there- and I'm sitting on the couch, waiting for Mandatory Viewing to start. I'm the only one in the living room, because my mom's been crying all day and trying to hide it, and Vick and Rory are shut up in our room. Posy looks so serious it's almost comical, but I'm not really in a laughing mood. I just grab my sister's hand and nod.

"Yeah, Posy, she's real sad," I say quietly.

Posy's eyes get a little bigger. "How come?"

I don't really know how to explain what happened to her but I know I can't just leave Posy hanging, confused. Finally I lift her up onto my lap and wrap my arms around her.

"We lost somebody, Posy," I begin, talking into her hair. "A really good friend."

"Who?"

I know she must have heard us saying his name all day, but I guess she hasn't really connected everything yet. "Sam, Posy. We lost Sam, Dad's friend."

"Can't we find him?" she asks. Her small, thin face is sincere and honest, like she's eager to help somehow. I know she doesn't like seeing everyone so upset.

But I just shake my head. "No, we can't. He's not really lost in a way that can be found," I say. There's a pause, and then I keep talking. "We lost him like we lost Dad."

Posy's mouth turns into a little 'oh' of understanding, and her frown deepens. "But Mommy says we didn't really lose Dad."

This time I'm the puzzled one, wondering what it is, exactly, that our mom has convinced Posy to believe. I know four years old is a little young to understand death, but it's not right for our mother to have convinced Posy that our dad can somehow magically come back from the dead. Before I get a chance to ask her to clarify, Posy keeps talking.

"'Cause we're carrying him here." She pokes the right side of my chest, and even though it's the _wrong_ side, I know she means my heart. I little smile rises to my lips, the kind only Posy can ever coax out of me.

"That's exactly right," I say.

Posy murmurs something that I don't quite catch, and when I ask her what she said, she speaks a little louder, snuggling up against me and burrowing into my shirt.

"Daddy takes up lotsa room. But I think there's space for Sam, too."

After that, neither of us says anything for a while. Her because she's about to fall asleep against my chest, me because I'm dangerously- _embarrassingly_- close to choking on the tears that are threatening to come. Finally, though, her grey Seam eyes latch onto mine. In a quick moment, her hands have found my face and pushed up, forcing my mouth into a smile that I'm sure looks odd because I'm still frowning underneath it.

"Stop being sad," Posy demands, her face in a pout. "I don't like it."

And there's something about her serious tone and small hands that makes my smile become real. "All right, Posy. I'll stop being sad." My bleak smile suddenly turns into a real grin, and my hands find her sides, tickling her until she's shrieking with laughter, and I'm laughing a little, too.

And even though making Posy laugh can't make Sam come back to life or save Katniss from the Arena, it does make me feel a little better.

Only a little, though.

When Posy's laughed herself out, giggling to herself on the floor until her soft laughs subside into silence, I quietly get to my feet and make my way to the room I share with my brothers. Rory and Vick are in there, and no matter how much I'm dreading it, I _do_ need to talk to them. Especially Rory.

And besides, now's as good a time as any.

I push open the door and step inside.

Both of my brothers are in the cramped space. Vick's laying on the bed, his eyes on the ceiling wordlessly. Rory's sitting against one of the walls in our room, his knees curled upwards to his chest, his head bent down to his knees. Neither one of them looks up even though they can clearly hear that I've entered the room.

I clear my throat, suddenly feeling like I'm not sure I can find the right words to help either one of them. Then I move to the bed and sit on the edge of it, trying to make my voice work. When it finally does, though, I say something so abysmally stupid I wish I hadn't said anything at all.

"Are you okay?"

Duh, of course they're not, and as soon as the question is out of my mouth I mentally hit myself in the forehead.

"Sorry, stupid question," I say before either one of my brothers gets the chance to speak. I let the silence last a little longer, while I actually think through what I'm going to say next. I nudge Vick with my elbow, suddenly realizing just how big he's gotten. "Do you remember when Sam brought home some fool's gold that he found for you? And even though you knew it wasn't actually worth anything, you carried it around with you everywhere you went?"

Vick turns his head a little to look at me, a reluctant smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

I keep talking. "And when Mom tried to make you let go of it, you _refused_. You kept it in your hand for a few days until you finally got sick of trying to tie your shoes with only one hand." Now, I'm smiling a little too, laughing. Vick finally joins me, sitting up, criss-crossing his legs on the bed.

"I thought it was magic," he says. "That as long as I held it, everything would be okay. That it gave me super powers." He's smiling at the memory.

"Well, you definitely made everyone who saw you laugh. I think Sam actually regretted giving it to you because you got so annoying about it." Vick's still smiling, which is a good thing. Now I've got to figure out how to cheer Rory up. I doubt I can, but it's worth trying.

I kick out with my foot, tapping Rory's side with the tip of my boot. "And what about you? How about the time when Sam and Dad convinced you that you'd laid eggs during the night?"

At this, Vick lets out a laugh even though Rory doesn't make any sign that he's heard. Rory was really young- he had to have been six years old- when Sam and our dad had placed some eggs they had found from a nest near our house on the bed Rory and I were sharing. When Rory woke up, there were three robin eggs on the bed beside him and somehow Sam and our dad had made Rory believe that he'd laid them. Rory, predictably, freaked out, wondering why he didn't remember what had happened and how, exactly, he'd managed to give birth to birds. Over the years, Rory found plenty of ways to pay Sam and Dad back, but I still I don't think anyone in our family had laughed harder than we did then for a long time.

"And then you ran around the house, shouting that you were turning into a robin and that you wanted it to stop." I'm laughing as I speak, remembering the image of a shrieking Rory, flapping his arms and going red in his face as he begged our mother to turn him back into a boy.

There's a weird sound coming from Rory, but it's muffled in his arms. I can't really tell if he's crying or laughing, and the shaking in his shoulders could indicate either situation.

Finally, he mumbles something. I can't really hear what he's saying, and I tell him so. In response, Rory lifts his head a little- his eyes are noticeably puffy- and he asks quietly the first thing I've heard him say all day.

"Why'd he do it?"

I'm stumped, a little, by this question. Not because I can't think of a reason- there are plenty of those- but because I can't think of a reason that Rory won't have already thought of.

"Rory-" I start, but he interrupts me.

"Now, I mean. Why'd he do it _now_. Didn't he realize-" Rory chokes on his words. "Now just- wasn't a good time." Then his cheeks flush red as he hears how horrible that sentence sounds.

But I understand what he means. Because I've been thinking it all day, too. How this week was a bad one anyway, what with the Games and Katniss and everything, and that Sam knowingly made it worse. Of all the times for Sam to commit suicide, now was really not the most opportune moment.

I instantly feel guilty for thinking that, but I try not to let it show.

"He talked about you, to me," is what I say, instead of answering his question. Rory doesn't even respond to this. "Told me to say hi, and that he was proud of you."

"Proud?" He whispers. His voice sounds hoarse, and it's hurting more than any twelve-year-old voice ever should. "What's there to be proud of?"

I shake my head. "Don't be an idiot, Rory. I could make a list of things for you to be proud of. The fact that you care so much about our family. How you've always been there for Prim. How you can make almost anyone laugh, when you want to. How you always know just what to say, even if you don't always say it. Do I really need to go on?" There's a brief moment of silence.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt," says Rory grudgingly, and I'm so pleased to hear the old him that I don't say anything teasing back, just ruffle his hair a little with my hand.

I'm about to say something about Dad when I hear the television flicker on in the living room, which means we should be getting the live recording of the interviews right around now.

I help Rory to his feet wordlessly, and then he, Vick, and I all join Posy and our mother in front of the television.

I can tell almost from the start that it's a set of interviews unlike any other one I've seen. Rather than really talk about themselves, the Tributes are all talking about the Capitol and how much they'll be missed there. The pretty girl from One- Cashmere- starts it off, and as the interviews progress, it's clear that the audience is a mess. They're crying and howling and some are even begging for change, and despite the fact that I know nothing's going to make these Games stop, I still can't help but grin a little. These Victors know what they're doing. And if there's any way to actually make the Capitol regret, even a little, what's going on here, they're accomplishing it.

As soon as Katniss is on the screen, though, I have eyes only for her. I can't believe it, but some idiot's dressed both her and Peeta in the wedding finery that the Capitol voted for all those ages ago. It's like they're trying to add insult to injury. I mean, sure, maybe someone thought it would be extra tragic to see what could have been, but all it really is is _stupid_.

They barely talk at all. Caesar asks her a question about her dress, and Katniss, once again displaying her amazing acting skills, pretends that she loves the dress and is glad the audience gets to see her in it.

And then she stands up and spins, her arms over her head. It seems like such an un-Katniss thing to do that for a moment I can just stare, but then I see the smoke and fire coming from her dress. Posy, who had been vocally admiring the dress, lets out a little whimper at all the fire, but my family and I can only stare. Not only do they dress her in a wedding gown, but they set her on fire, too? It seems like a bit much, even for the Capitol, until the fire disappears and we can all see Katniss in a black replica of the wedding dress. It's made out of feathers, with white patches on the floor-length sleeves.

"Feathers," says Caesar wonderingly. "You're like a bird."

Katniss, who clearly didn't know about this whole fiery transformation, flaps her arms a little. "A mockingjay, I think. It's the bird on the pin I wear as a token."

It's clear from the expression on Caesar's face and on several people in the audience that this means something more to them than what it sounds like, although I can't quite figure out what. Why does Caesar look so apprehensive about this odd dress?

He's quick to wipe his expression clear, though, and he keeps talking. "Well, hats off to your stylist. I don't think anyone can argue that that's not the most spectacular thing we've ever seen in an interview. Cinna, I think you better take a bow!"

A man stands up in the audience- obviously Cinna- and takes a small bow, his face serious. He doesn't look like a man who has just made an exciting fashion statement. Actually, what he looks like is a man who's just made a dangerous decision, and is still trying to convince himself that it was right.

But I don't have time to really give the matter anymore thought, because it's Peeta who's up next, and this is an interview that I'd like to hear.

They start the interview by joking around. I'm not really following the jokes about burnt poultry. They're certainly not funny, and it's clear in Peeta's eyes that he's not really trying to be clever anyway.

Caesar asks Peeta how he feels about the fact that there's not going to be a wedding, and then Peeta responds by asking the whole audience if they can keep a secret. Instantly I feel my stomach clench, although I can't quite decide why. Intuition, maybe, because I find out a few seconds later.

"We're already married," Peeta says.

Um.

What?

My mom and Vick turn and look at me, but Rory's still having a hard time concentrating on anything, really. He just stares at the screen while I try not to meet my family's eyes.

On screen, Katniss is burying her face in her skirt.

"But…" begins Caesar. "How can that be?"

Yes, Peeta, do tell. How _can_ that be?

"Oh, it's not an official marriage. We didn't go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don't know what it's like in the other districts. But there's this thing we do. The couple who's getting married always builds their first fire in their new home together. They make the fire, toast a piece of bread, and share it. And after the couple's eaten their bread… well, that's really when the marriage becomes official."

I grow cold at this. That _is_ the District Twelve tradition, and suddenly it hits me that maybe he's telling the truth.

"Were your families there?" asks Caesar.

"No, we didn't tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss's mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn't be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it. And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us."

Now, even Rory is glancing at me.

"Gale-" begins my mother, but I hush her so I don't have to think.

"So this was before the Quell?" asks Caesar.

Peeta looks upset. "Of course this was before the Quell. I'm sure we'd never have done it after we knew." I try to think about this, try to place when exactly this marriage of theirs could have happened. While I was still injured from the whipping? Somehow that doesn't seem right. But the honesty in Peeta's voice is so real that he can't be lying. No one is that good of a liar.

And knowing it's the truth _kills_ me.

Absolutely kills me.

I discover that I've stopped listening to the conversation because I tune in on, "-glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together."

The audience applauds. I feel my hands clench into fists at my side.

Katniss looks up and smiles tragically, tears in her eyes. Even her reaction looks real. I'm half-dying to know my family's reactions to this, but I don't want to let them see my face. I'm sure I'm doing a terrible job of keeping my emotions off of it.

"I'm not glad," Peeta says. "I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially."

_Yeah, so do I. _

But Caesar looks noticeably surprised by this statement. "Surely even a brief time is better than no time!"

And then Peeta says something I'd never, ever expect to hear.

"Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," says Peeta darkly, and his tone is so bitter it almost stings, "if it weren't for the baby."

And just like that, the spell is broken. Despite everything that's happened these past few days, I can't keep a surprised laugh from bursting out of me. Katniss, pregnant? The whole idea is so ridiculous that for some unexplainable reason, I'm feeling lighter, ridiculously happy. The screen cuts to Katniss's face, which I supposed could be construed as sad, but I know better. She has no idea what Peeta's doing. And if this baby nonsense isn't real, neither is the crap about a wedding.

I suddenly see what Peeta's trying to do for Katniss. And all I really know is that I can breathe again.

"Gale?" asks Vick, sounding a little scared by my sudden fit of insanity.

"It's not true!" I reply, grinning. "None of it's true! AND it might work!

"What might work?" asks my mother.

I can't quite contain my exuberance. "Mom, Peeta's lying. He didn't marry Katniss, and she's not going to have a baby. He's just saying that, because-"

But my mom's eyes widen. She understands now, too. "He wants sponsors."

I nod in confirmation. "The Capitol hated throwing the star-struck capitol in the Arena once. Give Katniss and Peeta a baby and they'll be heartbroken."

At this Rory sits up a little taller, thinking about Prim, I'm sure. "It's smart," he says in a small voice.

"It's brilliant," my mom corrects, still a little wide-eyed.

"It probably won't change much of anything," I say warningly, and I'm trying to squash my hopes before they leap out of my chest.

"But it was worth a shot," Rory adds quietly. He's using one of my father's favorite expressions.

Anytime he saw a large prey he hadn't set a trap for, like a deer or a stag or even once a bear, he would take out his hand-made bow and shoot. Most of the time he missed, and after searching the forest floor for his precious arrow, he would always ruffle my hair and say, "Well, kiddo, it was worth a shot." Then, the sunlight beaming through the trees, he'd grin a little foolishly and say, "Next time, though, I'll just set a snare."

I come back to myself and nod at Rory. "Yeah, it was."

My mother speaks up, hesitantly. "And you're… okay with that?"

My expression hardens again. "If it keeps her alive? I don't care what she does."

And I realize as I say it- it's true. Yes, I'm absolutely burning with envy towards Peeta. But the more rational side of me can see that this is ridiculous. Peeta's in a death match, where he's determined to die to save Katniss. There's really no reason to envy him at all.

My family fades back into silence as the national anthem plays. Peeta and Katniss are holding hands, and there's just enough time to see a shot of Katniss reaching for the one-armed man next to her and holding onto his stump as though it's a hand. He, in turn, grabs the hand of the woman next to him.

And then the power goes out, and we're submerged in darkness.

My mom instantly gets to her feet and starts finding and lighting the candles in our house so we at least have a bit of light.

"What was that about?" asks Vick slowly.

I know what it looked like to me- an open act of rebellion among the Victors- but I don't say anything. I let my mom answer this time.

"Something the President didn't want us to see," she tells him.

There's another moment of silence.

Then Rory says, "I'm going to see Prim."

My mother doesn't tell him no. She just lets out a sigh, and knowing that he'll go to the Everdeen's house anyway, says, "Be back as soon as possible. And don't do anything stupid."

Rory nods, and then slips out the door so quietly it's hard to pinpoint the exact moment he disappears.

I want to go check on Prim and Mrs. Everdeen too, but I have to be at work early tomorrow morning, and I really do think Rory has the situation under control. After an announcement from the Capitol comes on, telling us the recap of the interviews has been cancelled, my mom tells Vick and me to go to bed, and we obediently go to our room.

But I don't get any sleep that night.

I have a nightmare. One of the worst dreams I've had in ages, actually.

In my dream, Thread is whipping me and whipping me, and all of my skin is peeling off, but underneath I'm not really _me_, I'm some painted up person from the Capitol who barely looks human. And then Katniss is being tortured, screaming as some white-clad man cuts at her skin, and Rory is holding Prim's dead body, and then bombs start falling from the sky and I'm burning, burning alive, and a cannon sounds and I know I'm dead.

When I wake up, I'm covered in a sheen of sweat.

I instantly know why. The Games will be starting in maybe an hour, and I'll have to be down in the mines to watch some of it, and if things go very badly, Katniss could be dead before the night.

Needless to say, I'm freaking out. I keep imagining all sorts of scenarios as to what the arena will be like, and who will Katniss ally herself with, and whether or not anyone of those Tributes are worth trusting for any time at all.

And when Thom and Bristel come and meet me today as we walk to work, I can hear the reluctance in their voice, despite how haywire my mind seems to have gone.

"I'm- um, sorry. About Sam. And Katniss," says Bristel quietly. Thom elbows him, hoping that I don't see.

"Not your fault," I say gruffly, and I hope that's the end of the conversation.

Thom and Bristel both seem to recognize this, because they don't talk about it anymore. And once we're down in the ear-popping depths of the mine, we separate without another word.

It's stupid to assume that I can't hear the other miners whispering behind my back. Some of them actually come up to me and tell me that they're sorry, others simply whisper their thoughts where they think I can't hear it. But I do and I can't help but wonder if there's _anyone_ in this stupid District that doesn't know about the weird pseudo-romance that Katniss and I sometimes have.

I wish it was as secret as it's supposed to be.

After about an hour of mining, the giant television flicks on, and we get to see the Arena for the first time.

It's crazy. Completely horrific for anyone raised outside of District Four. Because what it is, is _water._ The announcer on the television calls it a jungle, points out that the Arena is completely circular. That there's the Cornucopia in the center of the water, and then on the outside, a ring of beach and dense foliage that stretches in a ring around it.

And all I can do is stare.

It is such a good thing that Katniss knows how to swim.

The announcer goes on to explain the clever trick of the arena this year- that the reason it's circular is because it's designed as a clock. Each 'hour' of the clock has a different way to die in it, programmed to go off at a certain time and to last for a different amount of time.

It's brilliant. It's cruel. And all I can do is hope that Katniss figures it out quickly.

As the Tributes rise on their small metal plates, I can feel my heart speeding up. It's roaring, pounding in my ears, and as the gong sounds, I'm filled with such a sudden surge of adrenaline that I almost feel dizzy. It's frustrating, to care so deeply about Katniss and what happens in these Games and to be unable to do anything about it. For the millionth time I wish I could kill whatever sadistic people came up with the Hunger Games in the first place. And everyone who's ever watched them with pleasure. Every one of them deserves to die.

Katniss goes straight for the Cornucopia, trying to grab weapons before anyone else can. When she gets there, the only other person to have reached it so far is Finnick Odair. I'm afraid, for a moment, thinking that this is going to be a bloody way to start off the Games, but am shocked when rather than attack, he grins at her.

"Lucky thing we're allies. Right?"

I'm pretty sure my jaw clenches at that. It's hard to believe this is the sort of person Katniss decided to take on as an ally. Typically she'd choose the one that seems most useless to the rest of the world- like Rue, last year. Honestly, if I made a guess at who Katniss would choose, this year I'd have said the old woman from District Four. Finnick Odair, sex symbol of all of Panem, would not have been on the list of people Katniss trusts. Nowhere _near_ the list. As far from the list as it's possible to get.

Before I can really be sure of what's happening, Finnick's killed someone to save Katniss, and the two of them have gone off to bring Peeta to land while the fighting at the Cornucopia goes on. I can't quite count how many people are dying at the Cornucopia, but the announcer certainly can. The number keeps climbing, higher and higher, while Peeta, Katniss, Finnick, and Mags, the old lady from Four, team up and move out. Which is funny, because I was right, about who Katniss wanted as an ally.

And that's where the television turns off, and we're told to go back to work. We'll watch the recap of what we missed in a few hours. Because even though the Games are going on, we can't let the coal production stop at all.

I work harder than I usually do. It's odd, really, that doing something I hate so much is actually helping to get rid of some of the stress that I'm feeling, but I have to admit that slamming the pick into the bed of coal is actually kind of relaxing. It, at least, is giving me something to _do_. And even though Katniss is never far from my thoughts, the physical exertion required in mining is helping to keep my mind steadier than it would otherwise be.

For the first time in my life, I'm thankful for the coal.

When we take the next break for a recap, at least six people at the Cornucopia are dead.

So, for a little bit, is Peeta.

Somehow he's walked right into a force field, surrounding the Arena, and the electricity involved is so strong that his heart literally stops. I almost can't believe it, and I'm surprised at how empty I feel about the fact that _Peeta Mellark has just died_ but the hysterical look on Katniss's face tells me exactly how real this is. I can't feel pleased. I can't feel sad. I just feel… well, empty. And furious, underneath, but the rage I have towards the Capitol is always there, no matter what's happening.

Peeta is lying on the ground, in a state of almost-death or actual death, and Katniss can't do anything about it. I don't think I've ever seen her more upset. She's shouting his name and fighting to reach him, and before she can do anything, Finnick's reached Peeta first and is pinching off his nose. I'm confused at first- this certainly isn't the most effective way to kill him- and Katniss has her bow notched with an arrow, ready to kill Finnick with a crazed look in her eyes. But the next thing I know, Finnick has brought his lips down to Peeta's and is breathing air into him, pumping life back into his lungs.

And from the way Katniss sobs when he finally revives Peeta, I can tell. Right there, I know that I've lost her. Because even though she may not know it, this is just like last year in the cave. She loves him. The whole _world_ can see she loves him. I can see it. And that added knowledge, on top of the fact that we might both lose her anyway, makes me stagger backwards against the wall of the mine, trying not to let anyone see exactly how much this whole scene is affecting me. At least last year, I was at home for all of this. I didn't have to worry about other people seeing my reactions. Which meant I didn't have to hide any of them.

But this time I can feel people's eyes on me, gauging my expressions, watching everything I do, and for the first time, I think I understand what it's like to be in the Hunger Games. Televised every moment.

I don't let myself react. But in my head, I'm screaming.

And that's when I realize how idiotic it is that this matters to me at all, because _it's not going to matter if she dies_.

Before I know how he got there, Lucien's at my side. My hands tighten around the pick I'm holding, even though I know he won't actually do any physical harm to me here.

"So your little whore got herself knocked up, did she?" His voice is quiet but jeering. I turn pale at his words.

My first impulse is to punch him. My second impulse is a lot smarter than my first. I hear Sam's voice in my head, those last few words to me- to just stand here and take it. I think that I owe it to Sam, at least, to follow through on his last wish.

So instead of saying any of the eighty thousand snappy comebacks that are desperate to make their way out into the air, I grab my pick and head back to my tunnel wordlessly. Mandatory Viewing is over anyway.

But Lucien's chasing after me, calling out at me, his words echoing around the hollow arches of the mine.

"Hey, Hawthorne, don't just walk away! We weren't done talking about your girlfriend!"

I don't answer him this time, either. Just keep walking.

"You missed it, Hawthorne. Spruce and I were taking bets on how long your girl's gonna last. Spruce says she'll be dead in two days. I said she'll be dead before dark-"

I whirl around, furious, ready to let loose all of my anger on him and forget anything about Sam's request, but luckily, someone gets there before I do.

"Allsbright, lay off him," comes a voice, and I think that's the moment I first realize that the tunnel we're in isn't exactly empty. I look at where the sound is coming from- it's a woman, probably a little older than my mom.

"What?" Lucien all but hisses, his tone dangerous.

The woman just looks tired. "You heard me. Give the poor boy a rest."

I kind of resent being referred to as a _boy_, but I feel a little better when I realize that most of the other people in the tunnel who heard the whole little scene are nodding, murmuring their agreement with the woman.

"Hawthorne has never done anything to harm you, and you're only making the situation worse."

Lucien looms over her, threatening and tall. "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?"

I'm not sure what response I'm expecting from her. All I know is, whatever I'm expecting, it isn't what I get.

"A mother, Lucien," says the woman quietly. "A mother who thinks we've all suffered enough. Him especially."

Lucien makes some disparaging noise and starts to say something rude back, but the other miners are speaking up now and it's _wonderful_, knowing that these people are standing up for me. And not just for me, for the woman, for Katniss, even.

And in the whispering and quiet protests, I can hear them calling Katniss something I've never heard her called before- "the Mockingjay."

Is this nickname something that's been created recently, because of the dress she was put in? Or is it something that's been around longer, that I've just been too busy to realize existed?

As I listen to the whispers around me, I can tell suddenly that this isn't a title that's just been made up on the spot. It sounds much more like something forbidden, something horrible and not allowed, and yet incredibly sweet because of its illegality. And I know, I _know_ this title means something more than it sounds. And maybe the reason I've never heard it before is because I'm just too close to the subject matter for people to openly discuss it in front of me.

All I know is that the woman's words seem to be working, because Lucien stalks away with a sneer on his face and a look in his eyes that tells me this isn't the end of whatever it is he's trying to do. But I don't have time to worry about that right now, because all that really matters is Katniss. Katniss the Mockingjay.

I quietly thank the woman for her kind words, and then get back to work, only half-heartedly paying attention to what's going on. When my crew encounters a fallen beam, I'm the one who suggests the plan to move it, although I think everyone can tell my mind is elsewhere. With Katniss, in the Arena.

I wish I knew what was going on.

By the end of the day, I'm so full of pent up energy and anxiety that it's all I can do not to sprint home and turn on the television to see if Katniss is still alive. Something inside tells me she _must _be, that I'd know if she'd died. I mean, if you love someone that much, shouldn't you know when something bad's happened?

And to my surprise, when I get home, the television is already on, and my family as well as the Everdeens are all at my house. Prim is on the floor next to Rory, eyes wide as they stare at the screen. My mother is sitting next to Mrs. Everdeen, saying something quietly in her ear. Vick has Posy held in his lap.

None of them look up as I enter the house, sending coal dust from outside scattering inside the main room. I shrug off my bag and sit down, my eyes instantly drinking in everything in the Games, desperate to know what's going on.

It seems that the fighting at the Cornucopia is over, leaving eight dead. Peeta, Katniss, Finnick, and Mags are all still alive, although for a short time it seemed as though they would have no way to get water. Luckily, Haymitch sent them some sort of metal instrument which apparently Katniss recognized as a way to get water out of plants. They tested it out, it worked, and now the four of them are sitting sheltered in some sort of camp they built, waiting for daylight to go hunting for Tributes.

The cameras show where all the other Tributes are, too. Johanna Mason seems to have tracked down the weak-looking ones from Three and made some sort of alliance with them, which, given the knowledge I have of Johanna's personality, makes absolutely no sense. The siblings from one, Cashmere and Gloss, have found Brutus and Enobaria and teamed up, which is _bad_ for Katniss.

Basically, as soon as the television flickers off, the first one to make any sound is Mrs. Everdeen, who lets out a small whimper as she buries her face in her hands.

The first one to move to comfort her is Prim. Instantly she's at her mother's side, her arm around her mom's shoulders, whispering something I can't quite hear.

That's the moment I first realize that Prim really isn't the scared little girl from last year, anymore. That she's grown up. That she's more like Katniss than I have ever given her credit for.

"You and Prim can stay here for the night, if you want to," my mother says quietly to Mrs. Everdeen. "We don't have much room, but if it'd be better for you to stay, feel free."

Mrs. Everdeen looks up with tears in her eyes and nods. "Thank you," she whispers.

As Posy and Vick head off to bed, the rest of us stay in front of the television, which flickers in the dark of the small living room.

We watch as one of the Tributes from Nine gets killed by a poisonous fog, which the announcer explains is some sort of neurotoxin. It deadens everything, makes the person lose control of their body, and causes them to bleed and blister literally everywhere.

"And look!" says the announcer gleefully. "It's headed right towards Finnick, Mags, Katniss and Peeta. This should be so much fun!"

I don't shout anything back at the television. I seem to have temporarily lost my ability to speak.

As the fog drifts towards Katniss, and she, unsuspecting, allows it to get closer, Prim suddenly reaches out and grabs onto Rory's arm, her nails digging into his skin as her face grows pale.

"Run, Katniss, run," she whispers.

But Katniss doesn't run, not until she realizes that it's making her blister all over. That's when she gets up, wakes up the rest of the group, and they gather their supplies, sprinting off, trying to outrun the fog that they'll never be able to escape.

Peeta, still suffering from when he basically died earlier in the day, can't run very quickly, so Finnick slings him over his shoulder and Katniss takes Mags. But it's clear that the fog is moving at least as fast as they are. They will _never_ be able to outrun it. Ever.

And so we watch, watch as the four of them try to avoid the unavoidable. Eventually even they realize they're doomed, and Mags walks off into the fog, sacrificing herself to save Peeta and Katniss and Finnick, and for the life of me I can't figure out why, but I know I'm grateful to her. Forever, I'll be grateful. Because she's giving Katniss more of a chance.

Somehow the remaining three make their way to a beach, and the fog stops, the hour on the clock finished.

As Katniss starts cleaning out her wounds with the salt water from the beach, I can feel my heavy eyes drifting shut, and even though _I have to stay awake_, I fall asleep on the couch, my last view of a scheming Brutus, laughing with Enobaria over some macabre joke.

I have nightmares again. Mostly of Katniss, being killed in some horrifying way. Of an explosion in the mine, and Sam wrapping his hands around my neck and strangling me. Of Peeta, leaning in to kiss Katniss. At the last moment, he turns into President Snow, who leaks blood all over Katniss' face as he brings his lips to hers.

I really ought to be used to it by now: I never sleep well during the Games.

I'm too busy worrying about Katniss, and wishing I could do more for her.

Too bad I can't.


	10. Chapter 10

_Note: YES. Quickest update yet. This one is coming up only six days since I posted the last chapter, people! This is a record for me. Maybe I should get a medal, or something. :) I'll try to be quick next time, too._

_Just please, if you're actually reading this, leave me a review or a critique. I'd really, really appreciate it. Thanks so much! _

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, the Everdeens are still at our house.

My brothers are both in our room, and my mother and Posy are asleep in theirs. Prim's slumped on the couch next to me, and Mrs. Everdeen is most likely in my mother's room. I don't go in to check on them, though, because it's very early in the morning and I think they deserve to sleep a little longer. The television's still on- it hasn't once been off since the Games started- and I wait for a recap of what I missed while I slept. Katniss, Peeta, and Finnick are all still alive and fine, although apparently I was asleep for some demonic monkey attack that ended in the death of a sallow-faced woman from District Six who actually went out of her way to give her life for Peeta.

This is so odd, especially after what Mags did last night that I have to wait a moment and rethink the "Mockingjay" business from yesterday. Maybe it's not just a District Twelve thing. And maybe the reason it seems like so many people are going out of their way to protect Katniss and Peeta is because they actually _are._

So does this mean there's actually a Districts-wide form of rebellion going on? Or is my brain just showing me what I want to see?

After seeing a clip of a teary-eyed Finnick- who apparently really does care for Mags- I grab my things for the mine and head off to work without saying goodbye, knowing I won't know what's going on in the Games until the recap we're shown around noon.

I actually leave my house earlier than usual. I'm hoping not to have to meet up with Thom and Bristel today, because I would genuinely prefer to be by myself. Just because I'm restless, and I'm not really sure what I could say to them, anyway.

So I'm walking, breathing in the polluted, coal-filled air, when I hear my name called from somewhere behind me. I turn around to locate the speaker, even though I recognize the voice instantly.

"Madge?" I ask tiredly. I'm not even sure her name comes out sounding like a question, more like an acknowledgment that she exists.

She's looking pale and sick, a little, like she's got the flu. "Gale. I was hoping I'd catch you here." She seems to be waiting for me to say something, so I throw out a question in the hopes that it's the right one.

"You okay?" So, yeah, maybe I don't sound even remotely interested in her answer. She doesn't seem to notice, her mind wandering just as much as mine is.

"Haven't been sleeping well," she says. I know the feeling. Then, "Look, I'm really sorry, but I can't give you or Rory the paper directly anymore. My dad got suspicious a few nights ago, when he accidentally dropped some important papers in the trash and had to go digging for them. I guess he noticed the paper wasn't in there because he asked me about it. I made something up, but I'm not really sure he believed me." A pause. "So if you or your brothers want news still, you're going to have to get it out of our trash can yourselves. I'll try to put it near the top but I don't know-"

"It's all right," I cut her off wearily. "I understand. Thanks for trying."

"Gale-"

"No, really. Don't worry about it. Not much point in getting the news anymore, huh?" My eyes find the barbed wire fence off in the distance, staring with dead eyes at the one place I love more than any other. "Seeing as now everyone in all of Panem knows exactly the same amount as the people in the Capitol do."

Madge has to hear the despair in my tone because she frowns. "Hey, Gale. Don't give up yet. Katniss is still alive. She's got a chance."

"Sure she does. Too bad that chance means twenty-three other people have to die."

Her eyebrows furrow. "There's a first time for everything. Last year only twenty-two died."

"So maybe all that means is this year, twenty-four will."

Her hand finds my face and slaps me. It doesn't hurt, not really, but I'm so surprised that I can still feel her hand stinging where it hit me.

"Gale Hawthorne, don't you dare say such things. You've got to let yourself have hope otherwise you've got nothing and they win! You _can't give up._"

Dumbly, I nod. It's the only thing I can get myself to do.

Madge frowns again. "I'm sorry I hit you. But I don't take back what I said. Katniss has a chance, and you'd better believe it, because you're one of the huge reasons she'll be coming home. I promise."

"All right," I say, my voice feeling hoarse and ragged from so many nights with such terrible sleep. My eyes drop to the ground, staring at the dirt and the brownish grass and my shoes. "I'll try. Thanks."

"Better," says Madge. "Just remember, Gale, people really do look up to you. If you walk around acting like Katniss is already dead, they're going to despair too. A lot of people respect you. Even if you don't always see it."

I look up to thank her again, more sincerely, but when I do, she's already gone.

The mine is stifling today, suffocating and making me to feel more claustrophobic than I have in years. Maybe it's the fact that death is so heavy on my mind today, because despite my worries for Katniss, it's my father I can't stop thinking about.

Or maybe it'd the fact that my crew leader has us working in the rebuilt tunnel where he died.

All I know is that I'm sweating more than usual, talking less, and trying my hardest not to think about anything, because there really is no safe topic to think about. Not Katniss, not my father, not Sam, not my family. And yet those are the things my thoughts are automatically flying towards, making me ache all over and wish I can't think at all.

I don't know how I manage it, but somehow I survive until noon, shoving my way towards the giant television for the recap.

Twelve are dead now. Twelve are still alive. Katniss is among the living, as are Peeta and Finnick. Johanna Mason and the weak ones from Three have joined them after a pretty horrific encounter with some _literally _bloody rain, although neither of the ones from District Three seem particularly healthy. And when Katniss tries defending them from an angry Johanna, Johanna snarls at her, "Who do you think got them out of the bleeding jungle for you?"

It's just one more example of Tributes trying to protect and help Katniss and Peeta, and it seems even stranger coming from Johanna Mason, a girl who's made it clear that she doesn't care about anyone other than herself. I'm staring at the screen with a kind of desperate, clinging hope which Madge seems to have rekindled in me, and it's surprisingly strong. Because even though having Katniss be some sort of figurehead for revolution makes things extra dangerous for her, it also ups her chances of making it out of there alive. Because so many people are trying to protect her.

Assuming I'm right, this discovery of mine is good. Very, very good.

And now the woman from District Three- Wiress- keeps repeating the phrase "Tick, tock," which anyone in the audience can tell means she's figured out the Gamemakers' little trick. It's also obvious that it's _not _obvious to the Tributes, so when Katniss' eyes widen in understanding of Wiress's vague hints, it's all I can do not to cheer out loud.

Some people actually do. Not shouts, really, but whispers and smiles and little approving nods to each other at Katniss's cleverness. And I think I can see it, now. How Katniss could be the Mockingjay. Not for everyone, of course. There are always going to be people like Lucien, who think any resistance is dangerous. But there are some that think differently. Enough.

Although if I'm seeing the possibilities of Katniss as a rebellious whatever-she-is, then people in the Capitol- the _wrong_ people- almost definitely can see it too. I don't even need to say how bad that is.

Eventually the announcer signs off and all of us miners head back to work. We won't be able to see another recap until the work day is over, so basically I've got another seven hours where Katniss could be dead and I wouldn't know it. But I remember what Madge told me this morning, grit my teeth, and force myself to breathe calmly. Whether or not I'm watching really doesn't make a difference. Either way, I can't actually _do_ anything for her. Which, oddly, actually helps me to control myself. I can't do anything. I can't do anything. I can't, I can't, I can't.

By the time I get sent home from work, it's all I can do not to snap at everyone who tries talking to me. I'm not trying to be so overbearingly rude but the last thing I want to do is pretend to be interested in a conversation. So when I open the door to my house and my mom starts talking to me, I can't quite stop an angry retort from coming out of my mouth.

"Katniss is all right," is the first thing she says.

"Alive, you mean. She hasn't been all right in years," I mutter scathingly. Then I say something incredibly inappropriate about the Capitol (it's a good thing Vick and Posy aren't in the living room) that makes Mom look seriously angry. I apologize for the language- not for what I'm actually saying- as quickly as I can, but I'm so angry about life and everything else that it comes out sounding kind of sheepish and angsty rather than sincere.

Happily, though, Mom has the tact not to press me about that and goes on to fill me in on everything that I've missed while I was at work. Since I last saw an update, Wiress, Cashmere, and Gloss have all died, Beetee's got some special wire that he's going to use to make a trap for the other tributes (which is actually a lot more interesting than I'd like to admit), and Johanna, Finnick, Beetee, Peeta, and Katniss are heading off into the jungle, trying to find a place to camp. My mom is just about to ask me about work, when a strange sound fills the whole house.

It's Prim, and she's screaming like she's dying.

Instantly both my mother and I stop talking, standing perfectly still. Rory comes running out of his bedroom, looking pale. "Prim? Where is she?" He asks. Neither my mom nor I can answer him. Even Vick and Posy are out, now, trying to figure out why our friend is sounding like she's being tortured even though she's obviously not in our house.

It takes us all a moment to realize that the sound of Prim's voice is coming from the television that's playing softly in our living room. From the Games.

"Oh, that's horrible," whispers my mom. She's the first one to figure out what's going on, because her hand is covering her mouth like she's seconds away from bursting into tears.

On screen, Katniss is running towards the sound of her little sister desperately, pushing her way through vines and branches, not even caring that they're scratching her skin as she runs. But when she gets to the source of the screams, it's not Prim after all. It's a jabberjay, a muttation we've all heard about but never seen. It's recognizable enough, though. Katniss shoots it immediately, still looking sick, and it's not until after the bird's dead that Finnick Odair finally catches up with her.

"Katniss?" He calls.

"It's okay. I'm okay. I thought I heard my sister but-" She's cut off by a scream, a young woman's, and Finnick instantly looks crazed, sprinting away to chase the sound even though Katniss is trying to tell him to stop running. When Katniss catches up to _him_, he's shouting from the base of a tree, yelling the name _Annie_ up into its branches like he believes the girl he's looking for is hidden somewhere in the leaves. It'd be comical, almost, if it wasn't so depressing. Because from the conversation he and Katniss have a few moments later, it's clear that Finnick believes that Prim and his Annie-whoever she is- have to actually have been tortured for the jabberjays to have their voices. I want to scream at the two of them that they're wrong, Prim's _fine_, but it's useless since neither of them can hear me anyway.

Although now they can. Because the next voice we hear is _mine_.

It's-

It's weird, hearing myself sound like this. Really, really weird.

I've never heard a voice so full of pain and it's a little scary to think that these sounds could actually come from my mouth. I don't want to think of what they'd have to do to me, for me to make noises like these. And judging from the way my mom has her hands clasped over her ears, she doesn't want to think about it, either. I know it's got to be hard, hearing her son be tortured. Even if it's not real.

But Katniss is trying to go find the jabberjay with my voice, struggling against Finnick's strong hold, and it hits me, for the first time, that Katniss was serious. President Snow _does_ know how much I mean to her, and he probably really has threatened me personally. I mean, I obviously already knew that, but I don't think I ever really _knew_ that. The President knows who I am.

At least he'll know who I am when I kill him.

Katniss and Finnick try running away, but it turns out they're stuck in the little slice of the clock until the hour's passed. And then things get worse, because more birds arrive, and with them come the horrible sounds of everyone Katniss or I have ever cared about getting hurt, hurt in ways no one should ever be. There's Prim, and me, and Mrs. Everdeen, and Madge. And then the rest of my family. Rory, Vick… My mother has to leave the living room, crying, when we hear Posy's screams too. She carries Posy out of the room with her, and soon after Vick leaves, looking disturbed.

But for some reason, neither Rory nor I move, stuck glued to the screen with some sort of sick, morbid fascination.

Neither of us speaks for a moment, then, as the screen flashes to the dangers Enobaria and Brutus are currently facing, Rory whispers hoarsely, "I didn't know I could sound like that."

"Me neither," I say, in just as ragged a tone.

We sit and stare at the screen for a little longer.

"Please don't ever get hurt like that," says Rory, and there's a hitch in his voice. I don't say anything back. No promises. I know enough that I'm sure if the Capitol ever _were_ to try to torture me, I wouldn't be able to stop it. I'd be powerless to save myself, although I'd fight them if they ever tried. I'd at least try to take some of them out with me.

On screen, Peeta is trying to convince Katniss that there's no way any of us are actually hurt, because when there are only eight tributes left, there's the interviews back. It's a weak argument, honestly, because if the goodbyes were cancelled and Victors reaped, I'm sure something as small as an interview wouldn't stop the Capitol from doing whatever they wanted to. But it seems to console Katniss and Finnick, and for that I'm grateful. And when the faces light up the sky, we all find out that there are sixteen dead in all, now.

But despite that, Katniss feels farther away from me than ever. And I still have knots in my stomach, like something awful has happened that I just don't know about yet.

Rory turns and looks at me as the announcer on the television drones on about Brutus and Enobaria, and then he says, "The newspaper's coming tomorrow, isn't it?"

Naturally, this makes me remember this morning's conversation with Madge, and I frown. "Rory, I don't want you getting the newspaper anymore."

"What?"

"Madge talked to me this morning. She said her dad was getting suspicious and that it wouldn't be safe for her to give it to us anymore."

Now Rory sounds even more upset. "What? How can she-"

"I actually agree with her. We don't really need it, now." I reply quietly. "There are only eight left, and what the Capitol thinks isn't important anymore. So don't put yourself at risk. Tomorrow, don't go get it from her."

"But Gale, there could be important stuff-"

"No."

I'm hoping this is the end of that conversation, but I can tell from the flustered look on Rory's face that he is _not_ okay with giving up on the news. Maybe it's partially out of devotion to Prim, who he's suddenly gotten much closer to, or maybe he just genuinely believes knowing what the Capitol is saying is important, but in either case, he's upset. I manage to shush him, though, when the television flickers to a shot of Peeta and Katniss, speaking softly into the night.

I can't help but listen, even though it feels like eavesdropping. Then I realize how ridiculous that is, because the whole _country_ is eavesdropping on them.

"If you die, and I live, there's no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You're my whole life." It's Peeta talking, naturally. "I would never be happy again. It's different for you. I'm not saying it wouldn't be hard, but there are other people who'd make your life worth living."

Katniss is looking distraught, as Peeta pulls at a gold chain that's hanging around his neck. In the moonlight, it's obvious that it's a locket, and inside are pictures. I don't know how Peeta got them. On one side are Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, laughing. I'm not sure I've ever seen Mrs. Everdeen laugh, not the way she is in the picture. And on the other side, even more confusing, is a picture of me. Smiling.

"Your family needs you, Katniss," says Peeta.

Katniss is clearly unhinged by these pictures, and I don't blame her. And it's so obvious of what Peeta's doing- is he really offering her a chance of a life with me?- that for a moment I can almost picture it, a life, with me and Katniss and a happily ever after that probably doesn't exist for anyone anymore. But then Peeta talks again and my image is swept away.

"No one really needs me," says Peeta gently, and as soon as the words come out of his mouth, I know exactly what Katniss is going to say even before she says it.

"I do. I need you." And then before Peeta can say anything, Katniss leans in and kisses him. It's a hungry sort of kiss, the type I'd like to have with _her_, and after the kiss has already gone on far longer than it needs to, I have to tear my eyes away. Rory's looking at me with something odd in his eyes, not pity, but something like it, and I'm suddenly extremely self-conscious.

"What?" I bark.

He just shakes his head. We sit there a little longer.

It's not until Katniss falls asleep and Finnick takes up the watch that either of us talks again. And once I turn off the television, it's Rory that breaks the silence.

"Gale?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you… do you want to have a family? Of your own, I mean?"

I'm caught off guard by this, so I end up answering honestly. "Well, yeah, I guess I've thought about it. Maybe one day. I don't really know." I pause, then grow stronger. "Actually, yeah. I really would like to be a dad. But- not until the Capitol's destroyed. Having kids in this country really wouldn't be doing them any favors."

Rory nods at this. "I thought you'd say something like that." Another pause. "You love Katniss a lot, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." No embarrassment at this, at least. The whole country probably knows it by now. I might as well admit it to my brother.

Happily, Rory stops that line of questioning before he gets too far down it. All I know is that I really don't want to be answering any more questions about her right now. Instead, Rory changes the topic.

"Do you think we stand a chance? Against the Capitol?"

I think about this one carefully before I answer. "There are a lot more of us," I say slowly. "And we have a better reason to fight than any of them do. The Capitol's got more weapons, though, and widespread power, but I think that if we were all- in all twelve districts- willing to give our lives for this, yeah, we'd stand a chance."

"A lot of people would die, though," Rory says quietly.

"People die every day," I reply roughly. "Don't you think it's better to die for something worthwhile than for no reason at all?"

Rory nods slowly, but I'm just warming up.

"It's been seventy-five years since the last rebellion. I think that after everything the Capitol's done, the only way to beat them at their own game is to play just as dirty as they do. Sure, people are going to die. That doesn't seem to bother them! But if we're going to back off because we're afraid that people are going to get hurt, we'll be crushed, just as easily as we were last time."

Rory mutters something about public opinion that I don't quite catch, and we don't talk for a while longer. Knowing I've got work tomorrow, though, and suddenly overcome by the quiet, I fall asleep as quickly as I can, right where I'm lying, for the second night in the row.

For the first time in a long time, I've got a good dream. In it, there's a world with no Capitol, no Games. A place, in the future, where no one would have to die for someone else's amusement and everyone would have enough to eat. Where Katniss's child could be safe.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, I'm still feeling strangely peaceful.

I show up at the mine already covered in coal dust from days before, and even though people keep staring at me, I actually meet their gazes today. I know my face is more recognizable than ever- and my voice, for that matter- but I'm not ashamed. Besides, it's nice for them to see that I'm alive and everything. That the Capitol really didn't hurt any of us, not me, not my family, not Prim. That, in itself, is a miracle, as both Thom and Bristel assure me.

"I was worried. Thought they'd really hurt you," mutters Bristel, his face pale.

"I'm fine," I assure him. Thom's grinning ear to ear.

"I knew you weren't hurt," he says confidently. "I said there's no way you'd scream like that if you were really in pain. You'd shriek like a little girl."

I punch him in the shoulder. "Shut up, Blackwood."

But I'm smiling, too.

It's nice, knowing that Katniss, Peeta, and I are all still alive still. I've got to admit, there's something comforting about that. Even if I don't really _want_ to admit it.

Lucien hisses some cruel things at me today, but to tell the truth I don't really listen to a word he's saying. He thinks he's clever? Great, let him think it. I'm too preoccupied to really give a crap what Lucien thinks about anything.

When, by the noon break, nothing major has happened in the Games, I start feeling twitchy. I don't think this peaceful stretch will be allowed to last much longer. The overwhelming feeling of converging doom is swooping down on me, and I start feeling restless again.

At least this year no one's offering me condolences like she's already died. Is it just me, or have the miners actually started to accept Katniss? If not as herself, as the Mockingjay? Do they actually hope that she'll win the way I do?

All I really know is, by the end of my shift, the sun has started to set, I'm pretty sure Katniss is still alive, and something inside of me is telling me that something is really, really wrong.

It's not until I reach the surface again and find Madge Undersee waiting for me that I realize that the problem's got nothing to do with the Games.

I don't see her coming at first, just feel her grab onto my coal-encrusted arms and hear her voice in my ears.

"Gale!"

Instantly I know something's got to be wrong. "What is it?" I ask sharply, hoping it's not news from the Games, hoping my family is okay, hoping-

"Gale," Madge begins slowly, "it's Rory. He's in trouble."

I freeze, holding her still, meeting her eyes, suddenly terrified of what my stupid little brother has gone and done this time.

"Take me to him," I say quickly, and before I know it, Madge and I are off, heading to the town square.

As we go, she explains to me what must have happened. Rory disobeyed me, and went to find the newspaper from the Capitol this afternoon anyway. I didn't tell him where Madge would put it, but it was inevitable that eventually he would check the trash can behind their house. Sure enough, he started searching it for the Capitol newspaper, but some Peacekeepers caught him in the act. Thread, after realizing that Rory was a Hawthorne, punished him by giving him five lashes and putting him in the stocks.

I can feel the blood drain from my face at this last bit. "Is he-"

"He's fine. He only lost a little bit of blood and he looks really tired, but other than that, he's as okay as we can expect him to be. He's got to stay in the stocks until tomorrow morning," Madge says, her voice a lot calmer than I'd expect it to be, seeing as she's delivering such horrible news.

"No, he can't-" I start, and I know it's irrational but I'm suddenly filled with this totally consuming need to have Rory at my side while I watch tonight's Games. "Are you sure he's okay, what if he di-" I choke on the word I'm wanting to say. _Dies._

Madge anticipates what it is that won't quite come out of my mouth. "Gale, this isn't like last time. It's not like when you got whipped; Rory's not really in any danger. He'll be a little hungry and a little tired when he gets home, but he'll be fine. I just thought that it'd do him some good to see you. And yes, before you ask, everyone in your family already knows."

I nod a little, swallowing to calm myself down. First the Games, then Lucien, then Sam, now _this?_ It's like there's some force literally out to get me. Breaking me down every way it can. "Thanks, Madge," I say, and the sound almost sticks in my throat.

When we step into the square, I can see him. He's hanging from the wooden stockade, his wrists and head buckled into place, his shirt half-on, his body slumped forward so he's hanging by his wrists, knees almost touching the ground.

My lips form his name, but don't say it. _Rory._

And somehow, my brother must know that I'm here, because he actually raises his head wearily, and casts his gaze around so his eyes land right on me and Madge.

His whole face lights up so much that any bit of anger I had at him for being an _idiot_ has almost completely disappeared, and I smile back in a way I hope is comforting. I mean, obviously I can't set him free because that's a surefire way to get him and I _both_ killed, but I don't want to leave him here. I also really don't want him to see how much this is upsetting me. He shoots me a tired half-smile, and then lets his eyes drop, and despite the fact that this most definitely isn't my fault, I'm still feeling guilty. Almost like I imagine there's something I could have done to prevent this.

Which is stupid. Obviously there's nothing to be done. Besides to sit tight and wait for him to be released so Prim and Mrs. Everdeen can patch him up.

Underneath my light layer of guilt, though, is a far more violent and turbulent emotion. Anger, roiling around below it, directed at Snow, at Thread, at the Capitol, at anyone who can stand by and watch a twelve-year-old kid get whipped and shoved in the stocks. I realize more powerfully than ever how much I hate all of them. This rebellion needs to happen. It _has_ to.

And then, interrupting my dark train of thought, is the feeling of a shorter girl barreling into me, wrapping her arms around my stomach and burying her face in my chest. Prim.

"I can't believe he got himself hurt," she murmurs into my dirty mining uniform.

"I know," I say back at her.

Next to me, Madge puts her hand on Prim's shoulder. "He'll be okay. He's a lot less injured than Gale was, and you managed to save _him, _remember?"

Prim takes a step back, nodding at Madge stiffly. "You're right. He'll be fine. Rory's fine. Rory's fi-"

Her voice cracks on the "fine", and then she coughs, looking down and rubbing at her eyes in the hopes that we won't see the tears that are forming there.

I pretend not to see them, because that's obviously what Prim is hoping will happen, even though I've seen her cry plenty of times before now. But for some reason I'm not sure I'll ever understand, Madge does just the opposite of what I do. She sweeps Prim into an embrace, and says quietly, "Prim, it's okay. Rory's going to be fine, and besides, you don't really want him to see you cry now, do you?"

"No," Prim sniffs, rubbing at her face. When she looks up, her eyes are dry and clear. "I'm- I'm just going to let him know I'm here, and then we can go home. Mom's already at your house," she adds to me quietly. Then she walks off, to get a little closer to Rory. I don't see what she does or hear what she says, because I'm too busy looking at Madge.

"Thanks, for that," I say. It seems like I will never stop owing this girl. "You didn't have to tell me, you know. Or come with me, or-"

"Don't be stupid, of course I did. I'm your friend." Madge is smiling at me, but it's not a particularly happy smile. "Besides, I figured I'd be slightly more reliable at bearing the message than anyone in your family would be. It took a while for your mom to calm down. Anyway… this whole thing was kind of my fault. I owed it to you."

"No, you didn't," I begin, suddenly realizing how true what I'm saying is. "There's really never been a reason for you to help me. Not with the morphling, not with the newspapers, not with this." As I talk, I'm getting more and more distressed, finally understanding that there's something that doesn't really connect and I wish I could see it, whatever it is. "You haven't had to do any of it, Madge. So why have you?"

The smile is still there, crooked and sad. "You really are an idiot, Gale Hawthorne," she says, and then before I know what's really happening, she's kissed my lips. It's not a romantic kiss- soft, and a little wistful. It's nice, but it still feels wrong, all things considered. She pulls away, smiles at me one more time, and then walks away, leaving me staring after her, unsure of whether or not I should call after her.

But Prim makes up my mind for me, because next thing I know, she's back at my side and we're walking home together, leaving Rory in the street and Madge far behind us. Both Prim and I are anxious to see what's happening with Katniss on the television.

When we walk inside our house, we're both quiet, feeling solemn because we've left Rory behind. My mom looks like she's been crying. So does Mrs. Everdeen. This whole week has been really hard on both of them, and it's clear it's not really been a picnic on the rest of us, either. Posy is upset because everyone else is upset. Vick looks scared, but he's the one who ends up filling me in on what's been happening in the Games.

"They're going to set off their trap tonight," he says quietly. "The one Beetee's been working on. They're gonna fry the beach."

I nod, then sit down next to my mother, putting my arm around her shoulder while Prim climbs up next to her mom, too. While the screen shows Katniss and Johanna separating from Finnick, Peeta, and Beetee, none of us mention Rory, even though we're obviously all thinking about him. We're too busy trying to figure out what's going on with the trap.

The coil of wire that Katniss and Johanna are trying to hang from the fake tree has suddenly gone slack, and it's clear that somewhere along the line, it's been cut. In case any duller members of the audience are having a hard time understanding what this means, the television cuts to a shot of Brutus, snipping the wire with fiendish glee. Then to a shot of Johanna.

Digging her knife into Katniss's arm.

Mrs. Everdeen squeals and covers her eyes. My mother covers Posy's. Prim's nails dig into my arms. Vick sits straight up. I try not to scream.

Is _this_ really how she's going to die? With Johanna freaking _Mason_ betraying her and killing her, away from all the others?

"Stay _down_!" She hisses to Katniss, and it's such an odd thing to say to someone that she's trying to kill that the puzzlement is clear even on Katniss's face. And then Johanna doesn't kill her, just runs off and leaves her lying on the ground. It's basically from that point on that Beetee's plan is ruined beyond belief.

Because that's when Brutus announces that he thinks Katniss is as good as dead, and I sure hope he's wrong. But still, I sit, motionless, trying to take everything in as Brutus kills Chaff and Peeta kills Brutus and Beetee gets cut before he can finish the plan that no one besides him understands.

The filming is jumbled, like not even the Gamemakers really know what's going on anymore. Honestly, watching it, although giving me mini heart attacks every three seconds, isn't really doing anything other than confusing me.

Obviously Katniss is confused too, because she seems to be fading in and out of consciousness for a while. Then, getting to her feet, she follows the wire to where it starts- at Beetee's body. He's not dead, yet, but he's injured very badly, and it's clear that Katniss is distraught. I don't know if she thinks Peeta's dead- he's not, although he's bleeding a little- but without saying anything, she takes a knife from Beetee. The coil's wrapped around it, and Katniss slides the wire from _it_ onto the tip of an arrow. I'm not sure where she's going to shoot it, not sure if she's going to follow through with the original plan after all. From what I can see, somehow I don't think she's planning on frying the beach, but I can't quite see another target for her to shoot at.

So there's enough doubt in my mind that I'm not surprised, if mildly confused, to find that she doesn't aim at the beach.

At the very stroke of midnight, as the lightning courses through the ultra-fine fiber, she aims upwards, and shoots into the force field above her.

There's just enough time for us to see a millisecond of a multicolored explosion. The next shot is of a hovercraft, obviously not Capitol-owned, materializing above the broken Arena, picking up Katniss's unconscious (dead?) and burned body.

And then the television- along with the rest of the power- shuts off.

We sit in silence for a long time.

Maybe 'silence' isn't the best word to describe it. I don't know how to explain it, but the air feels heavy. It's thumping with the heartbeats of an entire district as we struggle to figure out what, exactly, has just happened. Was Beetee's deathtrap a plan to escape from the Arena the entire time? Is Katniss actually alive? What's happened to everyone else in the Arena? These questions and millions of others are swirling around in my head, emptying out the quiet as we wait for something, _anything_ to happen. But no one's celebrating. No one's protesting. No one _moves._

All I really know, as my family sits huddled together in the silence of an eternity, is that Katniss has just done something irreparably dangerous, and we are about to pay for her actions again.

And that, whatever danger is about to come raining down on our District, Rory is going to be right in the middle of it.


	11. Chapter 11

_Note: All right, I'm sorry this took so long to write. Let's just say that I finally know what it's like to live in District Twelve- my work-and-school schedule has been crazier than I thought possible. In fact, most of this chapter was written on the back of used receipts while I was at work- my own personal act of rebellion. :P_

_Also, just warning you, this chapter gets a little intense. I don't know if any of you like listening to music while you read, but if so, read this while listening to The Dark Knight soundtrack. Or "The Blitz" from the Chronicles of Narnia soundtrack. They'll help get you in the right frame of mind. _

* * *

"We need to get out of here."

There's not a doubt in my mind as I look at my family and all that remains of the Everdeens- if we don't leave our house soon, every single one of us will die.

I'm not sure what it is, exactly, that's telling me that's what's going to happen, but I know it the same way I know my name and where I live. After what's just happened in the Arena, there's no way the Capitol is just going to leave us alone and pretend nothing's changed. No, they're going to want revenge, and since they can't get it on Katniss, they're going to get it on us. On her district.

None of the other people in the living room are protesting, although Mrs. Everdeen is looking at me with wide eyes.

"Why?" She whispers. Sometimes I forget how hard it is for her to concentrate when situations get tough. I've listened to Katniss talk scathingly about her mother for years, but it's still surprising when I hear her sound as childish as she's sounding now. Mrs. Everdeen doesn't sound like she's a grown woman speaking, she sounds like Posy.

I explain the situation as fast as I can, because I'm starting to feel a little impatient. Every minute we spend sitting here is another minute not spent getting as far away from District Twelve as we can.

"I think Katniss has been broken out of the Arena. Don't ask me who by, I don't know, but she's not there anymore. The Capitol is going to think our District was part of whatever it was that broke her out, and as far as I can tell we're not, but it's hardly going to matter to them. All I really know for sure is that if we don't leave NOW, bad things are going to happen." I'm not sure of the specifics, I haven't quite worked those out yet, and Mrs. Everdeen is still staring at me a little blankly. "_Really_ bad," I add, trying to make sure the message gets across. "People are going to _die_, bad."

There are a few seconds before my mother asks calmly, "Where should we go?"

She's looking at me with a sort of seriousness that tells me that she, at least, comprehends just how dangerous our situation is. I throw my mind around, trying to find somewhere that would be safe.

Safe. Ha. That's a joke if ever I heard one. "The Meadow," I decide. It's near the edge of the District and it won't be hard to make it past the fence and into the woods when we need to. "Then the woods. Make sure you take all the food we've got. Blankets, too, candles, anything else that might be useful. I don't know how long we'll have to survive on what we've got."

My mother is nodding, displaying for the trillionth time just how good she is in a bad situation. "You're going to get Rory, aren't you?" Her tone is flat, like she's trying to keep it empty. She knows me as well as she knows herself, so she doesn't really need to ask the question at all.

I meet her eyes, so similar to my own, and nod once. She reaches out and grabs my hand in her own, resignation seeping through her voice.

"All right. You know where to find us. Be safe."

"You too," I tell her, and then I take my mother in an embrace, not sure when I'll see her again. After all, I've got a crazy plan that I'm going to try to go through with and if anything goes wrong at all, both Rory and I could end up dead. So I'm hugging her now like it's my last chance to- and who knows, it might be. I say quick goodbyes to Vick, Posy, and the Everdeens, but time is my enemy now and I don't have much of it to waste.

As soon as I step outside with my game bag slung over my shoulder and shut the door behind me, walking out into the darkness, I hear the front door to our house slam open again, swinging wildly as it bangs against the wall. Light from the candles inside spills out into the air.

"Gale!"

I spin around; it's Prim. She's looking a little wild, her eyes wide and her tone insistent. "Gale, Mother and I need our medicine bags!"

"What-"

"If the Capitol comes, people are going to get hurt and I _know_ I could help them if I had to," she says. "But I need our bags in order to help. And there's Buttercup and Lady- Let me come with you!" Her eyes are shining with tears.

I shake my head, my tone rougher than it usually is when I talk to Prim. "No." I'm not about to let Katniss's little sister risk her life when there's any chance at all of her getting away and being safe.

"But-"

I cut her off before she can talk much more. "I want you to go with everyone else to the Meadow. Tell me where the bags are and I'll get them for you."

Prim waits a moment like she's about to protest, but wisely- probably sensing this is one thing I absolutely will not change my mind about- goes along with my plan. "They're in the kitchen, in the cabinet above the sink. But Gale, _please_ get Buttercup and Lady-"

"Prim, I can't get your pets," I say gently. "I don't even know that I'll be able to get your medicines. You just need to get everyone and get out of here," I press urgently. "And if you see anyone el-"

I cut off speaking because in the distance there's a sound I recognize from the noise of dynamite against rock. An explosion. The entire empty darkness above us lights up, a gentle orange flare, and Prim and I stare at each other, horror mirrored in our eyes. For a moment, just a brief millisecond of our lives, we're speechless as we watch the bomb fall in a fiery arch, displaying the dozens of hovercraft that are suddenly filling the sky, and I realize with a jolt that I'm more terrified of the possibility of a bomb falling on my family than I have been of anything else in my life.

But when a second one falls, illuminating the night and bringing the sounds of screams in the distance, my mind roars to life and I find myself pushing Prim back towards the door to my house.

"Go! If you see anyone else running, tell them to go to the Meadow too." As I say it, my brain is skipping ahead, offering possibilities to problems I haven't yet faced. What to do in the worst of circumstances, which we could easily be in. All I know is that if the electricity is off, then the fence will be easy enough to cross. "We want to save as many people as we can!" My tone is aching with necessity and Prim recognizes it, because she just says "All right" and ducks inside to collect everyone else.

And I'm off, jogging into the center of town, heading towards the explosions that are making the dusty air glow, as though the very oxygen I'm breathing right now is created solely out of embers.

_Rory and medicine, Rory and medicine, Rory and medicine._ They pound in my head, matching the pace of my feet. I know what I need to do. The only problem will be making sure I manage to survive this. Because I know, knew as soon as the power turned off, that this is the sort of event that the Capitol doesn't want anyone surviving. And since it's always been my goal to thwart the Capitol, I'm not about to make this easy for them, either.

At first, dashing down dirt paths, sprinting towards the explosions (yes, I know I'm crazy, my head is scream at myself that I'm running the wrong direction) there isn't anyone outside. But as more explosions continue to rock the ground I'm running on, people begin to come outside, some with bags, but most empty-handed.

"Gale?" The voice that calls my name makes me skid to a stop. It's Thom, looking afraid, his carefully controlled humor gone. "You're going the wrong way."

"I have to get Rory," I say breathlessly, feeling my pulse pounding in my ears. It's roaring in my head, drowning out the sound of Thom's voice.

His eyes are wide but he nods, and I grab out onto his shoulders and make him look me in the eyes. "You need to get as many people as you can and go to the Meadow. Take food, clothes, whatever you can, but get there and stay as far away from town as you can."

He nods again. "Okay," he says, his tone slightly weak.

"Where's Bristel?"

"Probably still in his house," Thom answers quietly. "I'll get him."

"All right. And once you get there, can you- can you keep an eye on my family in case anything happens to me?" It spills out of my mouth, and I can't stop my fear from entering my voice.

"I will." His grey eyes are serious and sad. "Stay safe, Gale."

"You too," I say.

And then I'm off again.

All around me, people are pouring out of their houses now, barefoot and sleepy but with wide-opened eyes that are drinking in the panic of the blazing night. I don't know where half of these people think they're going- they don't look like they could stand even half an hour outside, much less survive this certain attempt at genocide.

But I keep running, sprinting through the burning streets as people around me scream and smoke rises from buildings in the near distance. None of the bombs are falling on the street I'm on, yet, but I know I only have minutes, seconds, even, until they do.

It's the sight of a small boy standing outside of his home, holding onto a ragged piece of cloth that finally makes me stop. His bare toes are digging into the dirt and he's staring at the crowd of people flowing past him, and finally I yell at him and the two adults standing nearby who must be his parents- "Get some shoes on! Don't just stand there, can't you see-"

But I'm interrupted by shrieks from only a block or two away, as several buildings burst into flame, the smoke rising upwards towards the barely visible stars.

I don't get a chance to finish my question because when I look, the boy and his family are gone, and all I can see are hundreds of terrified people streaming past me, running away from the city center as though they're trying to outrun the dropping of the bombs.

And I'm fighting against the tide, struggling to make it past the mob of horrified people. I'm almost at Town Square but as I turn down the street I can see the glow of flames and I'm terrified for one horrible moment that maybe a bomb's already hit him, maybe Rory is already dead-

But I force that thought to stop because it won't do me any good, there's no way for me to do anything for him if he is and if he isn't, well, then, I need to calm down otherwise there's no way I'll possibly be able to save him.

The flames are massive. Towering up from all of the buildings- even the special governmental ones- they roar with life of their own as they kill.

And yes, they are killing people. The air is filled with a bad scent like burning flesh and all I can hear are screams. I can see a couple of Peacekeepers sprinting through the streets, but for the most part they seem to have disbanded, each person out for themselves.

Good. That should make my job easier, anyway.

And there he is. Rory. Looking absolutely scared senseless, hanging from his wrists, forgotten in the stocks right where he was this morning when I left him. There's fire all around him, and the crackling of burning wood fills the air. My brother has his head down, tugging helplessly against the wood that's imprisoning him like he thinks he can break out of it on his own. The corners of the stocks are burning, although he doesn't seem to be overly hurt. He's panicking a little, though, as the flames encroach towards his wrists from either side.

"Rory!" I know he can't possibly hear me because there are too many other sounds right now, too many sounds that should never be made by people, too many sounds that I should never have to hear.

But I'm hearing them.

And I don't know what it is, but something makes Rory's head come up, almost as if he could hear me. His eyes find mine and widen.

"Gale?" His lips frame the word.

And before I know it I'm sprinting towards him, dodging out of the way as a hovercraft zooms overhead, dropping a _ratatatat_ of bombs on the very street I'm on.

They hit a building to my right and my face is suddenly blasted with a huge wave of heat. I can feel the skin on my face burning and possibly even blistering but the pain is good because it means I'm alive, and now I'm only feet away from Rory and the stocks and there's no one here to stop me because I'm not even sure if there's anyone left to care.

"Gale!" This time he's actually talking, my name reaching my ears. His eyes are relieved but simultaneously panicked and slightly wild. "What's going on?"

I don't answer. We don't have time for it. Instead I ask, "Do you know how they got this on you?"

"It just clasps," he says back. "And there's a lock, too, but-"

The fire is nearing his wrists, and I can tell he's feeling the heat from it because his expression is strained, as though he's struggling to keep from screaming out.

"Forget it," I interrupt, suddenly struck with a semi-brilliant idea. Well, really, it's probably very stupid but it has a chance of working and I'll take that almost non-existent chance over watching my little brother burn to death. My eyes turn to the other people in the square, searching to see if there are any Peacekeepers around who might shoot me for trying to set my brother free. But the only people I see are dressed simply, screaming. I force myself to block out the sounds. I can't concentrate on them right now.

Rory. Rory. Nothing but Rory.

"Gale…" he says, his voice hitching in either fear or pain as the smoke hits his face and his wrists are burning.

"Close your eyes," I answer, and then I ram my shoulder in to the wood with every ounce of strength I have.

It hurts.

A lot.

My shoulder is aching, and as I throw myself against the burning wood it splinters, sending orange and red sparks dancing up into the air. Rory cries out as the wood crumples- I think some of the embers may have landed against the skin of his face- but the next thing I know he's fallen to the ground on his knees and I'm slapping at my shoulder, trying to put out the tiny flames that have erupted on my clothes.

When they're all gone, I turn back to Rory, who's still lying on the ground weakly, his wrists rubbed raw and blistered from the heat. I offer my brother my hand, and pull him to his feet.

"You okay?"

He nods, but doesn't say anything. I don't think he's quite found his voice yet.

"We need to get out of here. Now." I meet his eyes, feeling the burning skin on my arms. "Can you run?"

"I think so," he says back quietly, his voice ragged.

"Then we need to run," I answer.

"Okay."

He's staggering a little as he tries to move, and his shirt is still torn and bloody, but I'm not watching him anymore. My eyes are scanning the central square of town to find the safest route to the Victor's Village.

"Where's everyone?" asks Rory quietly, taking a halting step towards me.

"Going to the Meadow," I tell him. "But we're not going there just yet."

"Where-"

"Medicines. From the Everdeens'," I say. A trio of firebombs falls from the sky on buildings only a short distance away; the ground shakes from the strength of the explosion.

"Let's go then," he says. And we do.

Rory's running alongside me while the fire rains down, limping slightly from the broken skin on his back and his burnt hands.

"I know it hurts, Rory, but we've got to keep going!" I say, and it's strange but my voice is raised. I'm yelling just to be heard, even though Rory's right next to me.

He doesn't answer right away, and I can see his chest heaving from the running and the fear and the smoke. I know how badly a whipping hurts, and it's amazing to me that he's able to move at all.

"Are you- kidding?" he finally chokes out, his voice an odd mix between coughing and laughter. "I could run- all day!"

"There you go!" I respond, dodging a piece of burning wood that crumples from the building on my right. It crashes to the ground, igniting in a brilliant orange. "That's the spiri-"

And then I break off, skidding to a halt, my arm out to stop Rory and protect him.

Because we're not alone. We were never alone, really, but there's one member of the crowd around us who'd not screaming, not running about madly, not doing much of anything, really. He's just standing there, as the smoke swirls around him and clusters of firebombs drop on all sides.

It's Head Peacekeeper Thread.

And he's looking right at us.

And he has a gun.

Surprisingly, it's Rory who speaks first, and even more surprisingly, all he does is swear under his breath.

I can't help but agree with this assessment of our situation. Thread has a whip and a gun, and he's angry. All I have is my little brother and a whole lot of fear. We're entirely, utterly screwed.

"HAWTHORNE!" booms Thread, and it doesn't even matter which of us he's referring to. He takes a step towards Rory and me, his gun pointed solidly at my brother. We don't even look at each other to decide what to do- instantly we've both darted off in opposite directions as quickly as we can.

Just as a bomb explodes in the not-too-far away distance, I hear a smaller explosion, the sound of a bullet leaving a gun, and I scream out, somehow falling into a small episode of temporary insanity, where I foolishly believe that my _voice_ can stop a bullet from hitting my brother.

It can't, but luckily Rory was moving, and Thread just barely missed him. At least, I think Thread missed him. Rory's not lying on the ground, bleeding profusely, so I think it's safe to assume he wasn't shot. In fact, he's standing with his back to the wall, frozen in fear.

But now Thread's black eyes are on me again, me, Gale Hawthorne, the best friend of the person responsible for this destruction, and his gun is still aimed directly at Rory, even as the buildings burn around us and the hovercraft and planes are increasingly closer to where we are.

"Don't move, or I'll kill him!" he yells, and it's such an idiotic statement that I almost let out a dark sort of laugh.

Our district is being firebombed, and we're _still inside it._ Chances are, we're _all_ going to die, and it won't even be because of Romulus Thread. Besides, we all know that even if I _do_ what he says, Thread isn't going to let me OR my brother live.

With no other choice available to me, I invite Thread to do something rude and, I believe, physically impossible to himself. Rory's eyes are glistening- although that could be from all the smoke- and the next thing I see is a Peacekeeper woman take out her own gun and point it towards us. I can't quite make out her face from here, and all of my hope just dissolves, melted away by the flames.

I am about to die. My district is being destroyed and I'm about to die, and my mother will never know what happened to me or Rory, and only one thought is running through my mind.

_See you soon, Dad._

The next thing I know, a gun fires.

And, shocked to find myself still breathing, I discover that neither Rory nor I are dead.

My eyes dart to Thread, and I see-

This _can't_ be happening-

Thread, lying on the ground, clearly dead, a bullet through his skull.

And the Peacekeeper woman in her white uniform, glaring triumphantly down at his corpse.

"That's for Darius!" I hear her say, and I'm shocked to recognize the voice. It's Purnia, the Peacekeeper who intervened at my whipping. She lets out a defiant laugh and darts off before Rory or I can say anything to her, leaving us confused and scared, but most definitely _alive._

Rory and I exchange a glance that conveys everything our words never could, and before he can say anything, I head over to Thread's body, intent on getting my hands on his gun.

The blood is everywhere but I try to ignore it, prying the gun from his still-warm hands. I know it should bother me, taking something from a dead man. I should feel guilty. But thinking about everything this man has done to my family makes any feeling of self-consciousness evaporate in an instant. Besides, the gun isn't going to do _him_ any good anymore.

Rory's eyes are wide but I have to admit it's comforting to have a weapon. Especially when I don't know what we're going to have to deal with once we're at the Victor's Village.

"Come on," I say, the gun grasped in my hands. "Let's go."

And Rory and I start running again.

I know he's hurting. I can hear it in his breathing and the slower pace that he's going at, but I don't want to risk our lives any more than we already are, so I don't let him slow down.

When we're about halfway to the Victor's Village, a plane zooms by overhead and without any warning an explosion throws both Rory and I off of our feet. I lose my grip on the gun and the next thing I know, I've hit my head against a crumbling wall. I put out an arm to brace my fall but the next thing I feel is a splintering crack as something in my arm breaks or twists, and I'm overwhelmed by a wave of pain. The whole world blacks out for a moment, but the singeing feel of heat on my skin makes me open my eyes, feeling immensely dizzy.

"Rory?" I call out, coughing as I choke on smoke. I'm not on fire, but the building next to me certainly is, and the thick smoke makes it hard to see anything. My left arm is aching with the pain of a broken bone, and I put out my right hand to help myself get to my feet again, but find myself touching something soft and warm.

I look down at it to figure out what it is, and in the dim darkness I can just make out a human shape.

"Rory?" I repeat, wondering if maybe this is him and he just passed out like I did. I move a little closer.

And then I see the body's face.

It's charred and blackened and almost completely destroyed by fire.

I cry out as I scramble backwards desperately, anxious to get as far away from the thing as I possibly can. My eyes land on the gun just a little ways away and I get to my feet, sprinting towards it, trying my hardest not to look at the faceless body anymore.

"Rory!" I scream, and there's a breathless moment where I don't get an answer at all. But then I hear a moaning, "I'm here," and I can breathe again.

"You okay?" I ask, for possibly the zillionth time tonight.

"Uh," he groans, and I take that as a yes. If he can answer me, he's fine. I scoop up the gun with my good hand, forcing myself to ignore the splintering pain in my forearm and elbow, and sling it over my shoulder along with my game bad, jogging towards Rory's voice, coughing on the smoke.

As he and I start running again, I'd swear I can feel the dead man's burnt-away eyes on me.

And now, as we head back towards the other side of town, there are more dead bodies on the ground than I can count. Some of them are completely burned away, others are simply charred, but they're all covered in a layer of coal dust and ash. And the smell-

There aren't even words to describe it. Not when I know that that smell only comes from blood and burning skin. It's-

I've never smelled anything like it. I hope I'll never have to again.

I don't want to look at them. Don't want to think about the smallest of the bodies, the ones that I know are still just kids, some even younger than Posy. It makes me feel sick, like I'm going to puke at any moment.

I try to keep my breathing even, and just yell at Rory, "Don't look down."

I don't want him to see any more of this than he absolutely has to. But it's too late. I know he's already seen horrible things, because I have too.

A woman, her baby in her arms, missing both of her legs, both dead. A child with half of his body completely burned away. A headless corpse, its arms and legs separated from its body, fueling individual fires a few feet away from the torso. Children, still alive, burning to death. And these are just some of the less disturbing images. All I know is that the things I've seen tonight- am seeing this very instant- are never, _ever_ going to leave me.

We reach the Victor's Village and slow to a walk as we realize that perversely, this is the one section of the entire District that hasn't been bombed. It hasn't even been damaged. Even though this bombing is happening due to Katniss and Peeta, there is not one thing of theirs that's been harmed. As Rory and I walk into the careful circle of empty mansions, it's obvious that not a single thing in this part of town has anything wrong with it. It looks exactly the way it always does- pristine and far too large for the few people who live in it.

"Why haven't they bombed this?" asks Rory, coughing. Specks of dust and ash float through the air, like dark black snow.

"I don't know," I tell him, and he and I turn around slowly and look at the rest of the town.

It's-

I can't even find the words to describe it.

I always thought I'd be happy to watch my District burn. To have the chance to leave it forever. But I never, ever thought it would happen like this.

Behind us, flames rise from nearly every building in town, orange claws reaching upwards graspingly. We can still hear screaming. Tons of it, in every voice. Man, woman, boy, girl, it echoes through the District and permeates every thought I have.

I look at Rory and I'm not too surprised to see there are tears in his eyes.

I don't say anything. Are there words to say? What could I possibly say to comfort him? Anything I say can only make the situation worse.

So instead I turn towards the Everdeens' house and jog lightly, my gun still gripped tightly in my hand. My left arm hangs uselessly at my side.

I'm prepared to break into their house if I have to, but Rory interrupts me before I get the chance.

"Why not try the front door?" He asks.

I'm doubtful- it'll probably be locked- but when I grab the doorknob to open the door it turns out he was right. Prim and Mrs. Everdeen must have come to our house and not bothered to lock their door. So when the door simply swings open, Rory and I dart inside quickly.

_On the shelf above the sink._

That's what Prim told me. I head towards the kitchen while Rory wanders to a different room in the house, and I quickly follow the directions. There are three bags there, sure enough, and I grab them with just my right hand, calling Rory over from wherever he's gone. He comes back with a single shirt in his hands- probably something left here by Haymitch or Peeta, although the thought makes me go a little cold- and Rory's slipping it on over his ripped shirt. It's smart, honestly, because at nights it gets cold and if we plan to make it out in the woods for however long we have to, he'll need a fresh shirt.

"Hey, can you handle a bag?" I ask him, looking at everything in the kitchen. I swipe some food out of a cabinet and dump the sealed cans and bags of bread into my game bag.

"Yeah," he says, so I give him the game bag- which is now holding quite a bit of food- and take the three medicine bags for myself, slinging them over my right shoulder despite the fact that I'm definitely hurt.

"We've got to go now," I say. "You ready to run some more?"

"Yeah," he repeats.

And so, once we've left the house, we're off, running again.

We're going considerably slower this time. Part of it is the fact that we're carrying a lot more things this time- I've still got the gun- but part of it is also the fact that more buildings seem to have collapsed and now we're having to pick our way through rubble in order to get anywhere.

The bombs are still dropping from the sky and it's all I can do not to try to closely examine some of the bodies I'm seeing now. There are so many of them, so many, and I'm suddenly overtaken by a macabre sort of fascination- do I know any of these people? The sight of a girl, face down, with the pale skin and blonde hair of a merchant makes me go cold. It's not Madge, but still- where is she? Is she all right? Should I go check to see if she made it out safely?

The question is answered for me as we pass back through the blazing Town Square- every path to the Mayor's house is thoroughly blocked off by rubble and fire. I can't get there and I'm not stupid enough to try- I just have to hold out hope that she was smart enough to make it out on her own. There are people still walking around us, some running, too, but it doesn't seem like anyone really knows where to go.

It's hard to believe that at the most, only half an hour has passed since the Games ended so abruptly. It's hard to believe that in only thirty minutes my entire world has been destroyed. And it's impossible to believe that in half an hour I'm already become so desensitized to what's happening around me that seeing dozens of mangled bodies on the street doesn't bother me. I don't feel like the same person I was this morning at all. And that terrifies me.

Rory and I jog down a side street, taking a roundabout path to reach the Meadow, and the sounds coming from this one are truly terrible. There's the same screeching cries that are throughout the rest of town, but here they seem to be worse. Because, as I'm listening to them, it becomes painfully obvious that every one of those screams belongs to a child.

Rory's face drains of whatever bit of color remained in it, and he stops, walking almost gingerly. "What's that?"

I suddenly remember what building is on this street.

"The Home," I whisper hoarsely. The building where orphans are kept. Where Thom grew up.

Rory and I look at each other, exchanging glances of complete horror, and then we say the exact same thing. "We have to help them."

He and I run towards the building at the other end of the street, jumping over timbers and dodging sparks and embers that are dancing in the sky.

And then we see what's causing the screams.

The State Home isn't destroyed, not yet, anyway. For now it's still standing, but its top floors are burning quickly. And the truly horrendous bit- all of the children are still _inside_.

I can tell because the bottom floor of the building is lined with windows and they're pounding against them from the inside, screaming and crying as they press their faces to the glass.

Some of the youngest are calling out a word that I can clearly see as "Help" and they meet my eyes, their expressions terrified and choked. I know they're probably all suffocating on the smoke and if I don't do something soon there's no way any of them are going to survive. I try the door first, but it's made out of some sort of metal and it's locked in a high-tech Capitol sort of way, so I know that it's probably not my best bet at breaking these kids out. Suddenly feeling cold and even vaguely empty inside, I take the gun by my good hand, determined to break through the glass of the windows. The kids obligingly take a few steps backwards, watching me anxiously, the barest flicker of hope shining in some of their faces.

But when I swing the gun against it, the glass doesn't shatter. It doesn't even begin to crack. I even try aiming towards the top of the window and shooting, but the bullet has absolutely no effect. I look up and see that the fire is almost on the bottom floor now, and I'm panicking a little, as I beat against the glass over and over, adrenaline and anger making my swings more powerful than ever. But nothing is happening.

I don't know what sort of glass the State Home is using but it's got to be something from the Capitol because I physically cannot break these windows. I can't do it. Exhausted and in pain, I let my arms drop to my sides, shaking my head.

And the tears of the kids inside, who are slowly getting quieter as the fire reaches the same floor they're on, are no longer tears of fear. Instead, far worse than that, they're tears of resignation.

They're all going to die.

They know it. Rory and I know it.

And I'm not surprised when I feel tears coming from my eyes, too. I'm crying because I know I can't save these kids. Because I'm going to have to watch them burn to death and there's nothing I can do.

I can barely see, the tears are obstructing my view so badly. I don't know what to do. I don't want to just walk away, having given up on these people. But I know Rory and I can't stay here for much longer.

Surprisingly, it's Rory who finally does it.

Crying openly, he takes the three middle fingers of his left hand and touches them to his lips, then holds them out to the kids inside. Our District's signal of good-bye.

I join him, ignoring the shooting pains coming from my left arm as I do so. It's fitting, really. The ultimate sign of respect and love for people who have passed on or are leaving.

Some of the older kids standing inside do it back, their eyes wet and red, and in that moment there's a strange sort of understanding between us. They're wanting to thank us for trying. We're wanting to apologize to them for failing.

And there is nothing, _nothing_ any of us can do about the inevitable outcome of this situation for everyone inside the building.

I meet their gaze a final time, and then, still with wet eyes, run off, dragging Rory behind me. I don't want to see any more children die than I absolutely have to.

And I know that this moment, just like the rest of this awful, bloody, fiery night, is never going to leave me. I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to figure out if there was any way I could have saved those kids.

It's going to eat me alive.

And my hatred for the Capitol- for President Snow- grows bigger than it has ever been.

A spattering of bombs falls again, but Rory and I don't even let that faze us. We're almost at the Meadow, almost at the gateway to safety, and it's all I can do not to rip into a full-out sprint.

Rory and I keep going at the same pace we've been running all night, and as we turn into the Meadow, I'm shocked to see how many people are there.

I thought there might be somewhere around fifty. But this number- this vast amount of people- is incredible. I don't know how many there are, but my guess is somewhere over six hundred.

My eyes just widen as I take in everyone who's here. Even though it's still the middle of the night, the field is unusually bright. Part of it is because of the full moon, which is casting an eerie white glow over everyone and everything. Another part of it is because of the bombs and the fire from town, lighting up the rest of the sky with orange and red. I can't see my family or Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, but I'm holding on to an insane aching hope that they're standing in the crowd somewhere.

Rory looks as surprised as I am, and he croaks, "Why are they all just standing here? The fence should be off."

It's a good question, especially considering the fact that it's not like this part of town is entirely un-bombed either. In fact, there are definitely parts of the Meadow that are ablaze, and it worries me that we're all just standing here, perfectly easy targets for a hovercraft to take down.

I reach out a hand to get the attention of the woman who's standing in front of me.

When she turns around to look at me, her face covered in ashy soot, I ask, "What's going on? Why are we all just standing here?"

Her voice is infinitely tired as she answers me. "Can't go anywhere," she mumbles back. "Fence."

I understand what she means now. After all, a fence is easy for Katniss or me to climb. But there's no way hundreds of people can make it over the fence, especially is a lot of them are wounded.

The woman turns back around and I grab onto Rory's arm with my right hand, pulling him through the crowd of people after me. We're forcing our way to the front because the only way to guarantee that any of these people survive is to tear down the fence so we can get out into the woods. And if no one else is going to make a group of people to tear down the fence, I have no problem doing it.

I'm sure there are uninjured miners in this group who would know how to work as a team to pull this down. I mean, it'd be ideal if we had some dynamite or something, but that's probably hoping for just a little too much.

Once I reach the front of the group, up near the fence itself, my eyes scan the crowd. It's not long before they land on someone familiar.

"Thom!" I cry out.

He turns around, his eyes landing on me, surprise written on his expression. "You're all right, then," he says.

"You too," I answer. I remember where he said he was going to go, and ask, "Bristel?"

But to my horror, Thom shakes his head infinitesimally, his eyes filling with tears.

"No," I whisper.

"He was dead when I got there," Thom says, and the sadness in his face is more painful to witness than almost anything else I've seen tonight.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. I can't believe it. Bristel. Dead. It's impossible. It's horrific. It's reality.

"Not your fault," he says back, his expression now suddenly blank. "Your family's okay, though," he adds, changing the topic, his voice overly loud. "They've been looking for you."

"All of them are fine?" That's Rory chiming in.

"Yeah," says Thom. There's a moment of silence.

"That's great, at least," I say. Then, "We need to tear this down," I gesture to the fence and then look at Rory and Thom. Thom's nodding, his eyes still red.

"How are we going to do that?" Rory asks.

"We'll just… we'll just have to get a group of people together." I frown, eyeing the towering wall of barbed wire.

It's not electrified, so it should be easy enough to pull. Especially since the barbed wires are stuck to the ground through rotting stakes. If we got enough people to just push or pull at the wooden stakes, the whole fence should come down. Just like in the coal mine, when we used to pull down timbers. All it really takes is some strength and good timing. Plus, there are definitely enough frightened people here that it should be do-able.

"Watch these bags for me, and stay here," I command Rory, sliding the bags and gun off my shoulder onto the ground in front of him. He agrees. "Thom, come with me." And then we're off.

He and I start going person to person, explaining the situation until we have about twenty five strong-looking people who are willing to help us. I don't really know any of them personally- Thom knows a couple- but they all seem to be listening pretty carefully to what I have to say, and it's clear that they understand the importance of getting out of here as rapidly as possible. Especially since there are bombs falling towards the far end of the Meadow, and I know that people are probably getting incinerated even here, at the very edge of safety.

I split all of the volunteers up into groups of five, five men to a pole, and then call out the orders we use in the mine. I'm not really helpful and I know it- my left arm is still limp and aching- but I pull anyway, joining in everyone else.

It's not surprising when someone's pole comes out of the ground and collapses, just like it's supposed to, but the other people who are viewing our work let out a weak sort of cheer as it happens. Soon after, the other poles come down too, and all of a sudden we've got a gaping hole in the fence.

People start rushing towards the hole, their chattering anxious and loud, but the sheer force of them makes me feel a little panicked. Where do these people think they're going? Did any one of them even bother to think this through? Once I've picked up my bags and gun again, I'm shaking my head, holding out my hands, shouting "Stop!"

I'm briefly terrified that the mob of people is just going to keep coming and trample me where I stand, but they don't. I don't know how it happens but the people are actually listening to me, obeying what it is I have to say, and even though there's chattering going on towards the back, a lot of them seem to be listening to me.

"Do you even know where you're going?" I yell, as loud as I can.

"Somewhere safe," someone shouts back at me.

I shake my head again and say, "If you all blindly run out here you're going to die just the same as if you stayed in the District!"

They get angry at this and I start to hear shouts, things like "Who does he think he is?" and "If we're all going to die, why does it matter?" and worse things, horrible things aimed right at me, and I'm stammering out responses but the crowd is surging with unspent energy and fear and anger, too.

An older man- one of the crew leaders in the mines who I recognize- pushes his way to my side and yells out, "Let the boy speak!"

Instantly the crowd quiets, and it's an ashamed-feeling silence. The man- whose name is Moore, I think- looks at me, and says, "I'm assuming you had some sort of plan, son?" His voice is quiet, meant only for me, not for everyone else. I nod, then speak up loudly so everyone nearby can hear me.

"Look, I know the woods. I know them really well, I've been out here so often, and I know a place where we can all go. A safe place." I pause, let them digest this fact. "The only thing is that to get there, you all have to follow me. If we all work together we've got a better chance of surviving than if we all run blindly into the woods. There are-"

But people seem to have stopped listening as soon as they heard "follow me." They burst out into angry titters again and I'm feeling slightly helpless as I keep hearing horribly angry comments directed at me.

But it's Greasy Sae who calls out next, elbowing her way to the front with deep burns on her bare arms.

"I trust this boy," she says, her voice menacing despite her kind words. "If he says he's got a safe place for us to go, I believe him. He's been out in these woods more times than most of us can count. I don't care what the rest of you do; I'm following him."

And it seems that, among those of us standing in the Meadow at least, Greasy Sae's words really do hold a lot of weight. Because as soon as she's done speaking, I begin to hear murmurs of agreement against the still-falling bombs, and I take the opportunity and speak up again, suddenly anxious to get OUT of here.

"There a lot of people here and there's no way we can survive if we start turning on each other. How many people here have food already?"

Most of the crowd is quiet now, listening to me carefully, and quite a few more hands then I expect rise into the air. There's still not enough to go around with this huge group of people, but the number of people who thought to bring food for themselves should help. If every person here helped gather food… we might have a chance…

"All right, that's good," I say. "But we're going to need every able-bodied person to help hunt. I really do think we have a chance." I look at the man, the crew leader.

He's nodding. "Sounds like a good plan to me," he says. "What did you say your name is, again?"

"Gale," I tell him. "Gale Hawthorne."

I don't know if he recognizes my name or not, because Moore just nods. "All right, then. Anything else to say?"

I raise my voice one more time. "If anyone knows how to hunt, come talk to me and we can start setting up a schedule or something, so we can make sure everyone's had some food." My eyes meet Thom's, and I look back at the crowd of people. "Any problems with that?"

I'm expecting complaints, questions asking who put me in charge, that sort of thing. So I'm surprised when I don't get any of that. Instead I get silence, shaking of heads, and an odd sort of reverence that throws me off-kilter a little bit. Are the people in my District really so beaten down that they're actually going to do what I'm telling them to do? I mean, I'm grateful for it and everything, but it's still incredibly odd.

"All- all right, then," I stammer, and then I steady my tone once again. "Let's go then. Before any more bombs get dropped on us."

And I turn with my back to the crowd and start walking into the woods, leaving behind a blazing meadow full of people, who surprisingly enough, start following after me. Rory and Thom are at my side, with Moore heading back to herd other people towards us and explain what's going on to everyone who couldn't hear.

I don't manage to walk very far before I hear my name shrieked out joyfully.

"Gale! Rory!" Both my brother and I turn around, but we know who it is. We've listened to her voice our entire lives.

It's out mother. She's running towards us as though she hasn't seen us in years- it really does seem like it's been that long- and I'm surprised to see tears in her eyes.

"I was so worried-" she says, and she folds both Rory and I into her arms, and there are a lot of tears as Vick and Posy join our embrace. I'm wincing from the still-present pain in my arm, but I try not to let it show. I don't think I fool Mrs. Everdeen, though. She's watching me sternly, her eyes drinking in my battered form as though she's trying to analyze everything that's wrong with me at once.

When I step away from the hug, I look up and there's Prim, standing apart from both my family and her mother. Prim's eyeing Rory as though he's come back from the dead but as soon as my mother lets go of us Prim's rushing towards him, hugging him, and Mrs. Everdeen is all business, coming up to grab the bags of medical supplies from me.

"Gale, what happened to your arm?" She asks me sternly, and I shake my head.

"It's not important," I tell her. "You can fix it later, we just need to get farther away from here."

She looks disapproving, but doesn't press the matter.

And we're off.

I gather up what little hunting supplies I have- my two bows and arrows, my hidden knife and fishing net, and all the rope I have for snares- and even though I'm worried about feeding all of these people, at least I have an idea of where to go and what to do.

The lake. I just have to get these people to the lake. I have no idea what to do from there, but I can almost guarantee their safety if they're at the lake.

Thom ends up volunteering to actually stay towards the back of the group for the whole time and herd the rest of the refugees in our direction. He says he's worried that there could be a lot more people coming, and he'll just send them our way when he finds them.

I hope he's right. Because having only seven hundred survivors out of a population of somewhere around 10,000 is just wrong. It's too small a number. It's horrific, thinking about it- I probably now know far more dead people than living ones. And something about that little fact causes shivers to run up my spine.

My feet pick their way to the path leading to the lake carefully. I know this path, now. Of course I do, how could I possibly forget it? Every detail of that day with Katniss at the lake house has stayed in my mind and won't leave me alone.

It's funny and a little weird, probably, but ever since that day, I've mentally split my life into two parts. Days before The Whipping and days after The Whipping. And the day at the lake marks the turning point for me.

The walk to the lake is long and eerie. No one speaks- the only sounds are those of trampling feet and of bombs still falling on the town behind us. Here and there people have lit a few candles to help light the path better, and the mass exodus of people is marked by the gentle lights bobbing up and down in the dark night.

After about twenty minutes of walking, though, the hovercraft seem to have disappeared, their work finished.

And when, hours later, I finally lead the way into the clearing with the lake and the ancient houses, all I can think about is how many people have been left behind, burning and smoldering in the ruins of District Twelve. Watching the tired, weary, grimy people stumble their way into the clearing behind me, part of me is still vaguely pleased that anyone survived at all. I mean, I'm aware we're a long way away from safety still, but for now I have my family with me and we have water and soon we'll have food, too, and as long as all of us refugees stay working together, we might be able to survive this. My mother comes up behind me, sliding her hand into mine, staring at the people as they flood towards us, their bodies slight outlines in the dark.

"You did this," she whispers. "You saved them."

I shake my head. "We're not safe yet," I say, but my when I turn to look at my mom's face, she's got a ghost of a smile around her lips.

"I'm proud of you."

She leans towards me, kisses my forehead, and walks back to where Vick and Posy are lying in the grass, asleep already. The hike here really was exhausting, especially the trauma of this night. Other people seem to have had the same idea because all over people are collapsing onto the ground, some just staring into the distance as they recall everything they lost, others falling asleep almost intstantly.

I know I won't get any sleep tonight, though. Because I've still got things to do, plans to make in order to ensure as many people as possible survive. Prim and Mrs. Everdeen are already setting up a makeshift hospital with their medicine bags, and it's clear they're not planning on sleeping much tonight, either.

Besides, even if I didn't have things to do, I know the nightmares would keep me awake. Worries about Katniss. The faces of the hundreds of dead bodies I saw. No matter how much I try to get the images I've seen tonight out of my head, they just won't leave me. And as I stop outside of the house Katniss and I built our fire in, breathing in and out softly, trying to keep my mind empty, I can't help but notice that the air still tastes of corpses.


	12. Chapter 12

_Note: I am really worried about this chapter. Really. Really. Worried._

_See, the problem is that I loved my last chapter and I wasn't sure how to effectively follow up on it. I'm still not entirely sure I was successful and I've written like, three versions of this chapter… this was the one I disliked the least. So if there are things that you all think need changing, you ought to let me know. So I can change them. :P _

_Also, in case anyone likes reading my writing just because you like the way I write, I do have some original work posted at various places for you to read. You should go check out my page on deviantart (I'm sephiesport over there, too)- I only have one short story there right now, but my account's new-ish and you should read it and let me know what you think. And yes, that is some totally shameless plugging._

_Anyway, enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

Eight hundred and fifty seven.

That's the number of people who made it out of District Twelve and found their way to the lake. Only eight hundred and fifty seven, out of a population of nearly ten thousand. It sounds like a large number until you actually take a moment to consider the implications of it:

More than nine tenths of my District is dead.

Moore and I, we ran some numbers. After the sun had come up this morning and the fires from District Twelve had died down, we called a meeting of all of the survivors and did a headcount. We even recounted to make sure our numbers were correct.

Eight hundred. And fifty seven.

But that number of survivors is slowly falling. Despite the fact that Prim and Mrs. Everdeen set up a makeshift infirmary to care for the injured, not everyone made it out of the District with wounds that could be healed. Just since last night, six more of us have died.

Those eight hundred and fifty-seven people are made up of a blend of a vastly diverse group of survivors, representing just about every social class District Twelve ever had to offer. True, most of us are either from the Seam or merchants, but quite a few Peacekeepers made it out alive- including the one I wanted to see the most.

I'm limping towards the station where Prim and her mother are to check on them and make sure everything's running smoothly. It's about mid-afternoon on day one of our little refugee camp, and things seem to be going as well as can be expected. The remaining survivors have banded together in a way that can most likely only happen when lives are in danger, and somehow I've found myself sort of… in charge of it all. Which is a little bit unusual for me, given the fact that I'm barely nineteen and am from the Seam, but no one's protesting my leadership and most people actually even support it. Moore and I are mostly the ones making the decisions- he's out right now with a group of people who decided to go back to District Twelve (including Thom) and check for more survivors on the path. He told me that his crew would come back by tomorrow morning, hopefully with more people, but until then, I'm in charge of everything here at the lake.

The truth is, though, that I really don't have anything to do. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim have their miniature hospital station set up, which is basically running itself, Greasy Sae's been enlisting helpers and cooking and preparing food nonstop, and the hunters have all been out with groups of people gathering food. Even the people in charge of making the concrete shelters habitable don't need me- they've done pretty well about setting up schedules on their own. And the fact that one of my arms is definitely broken (Mrs. Everdeen and Prim told me so) makes me even more superfluous than I would have been otherwise.

As I walk over to where they are, near the shore of the lake, I can see Mrs. Everdeen treating a woman in a charred Peacekeeper uniform who's facing away from me. There's a long line of people, all waiting to see Mrs. Everdeen for a treatment for whatever problems they have, but the person that interests me most is the Peacekeeper. I can't quite tell who she is from this distance, but as I approach, I see Mrs. Everdeen lean over the woman and say something in the woman's ear. Both of them turn to look at me, and as they do, I can suddenly tell that I know that Peacekeeper, and that she saved my life only last night.

"Purnia!" I call as I make my way closer to them, feeling inexplicably happy that this woman at least made it out of District Twelve alive.

Purnia lets a small smile touch her mouth, even though her face is clearly displaying a lot of pain. "Hey, Gale." She follows the trail my eyes have made down to her leg, which is torn and burned and bloody, and then she shrugs, wincing as Mrs. Everdeen applies some sort of salve to it.

"You walked all the way here on that leg?" I ask, disbelievingly.

"That? That's nothing. I didn't even know I'd been hurt. I guess I wasn't as-" she winces again, "-as careful as I thought I was."

I let out a low whistle, and then turn serious again, trying to thank her for her actions yesterday. I don't really know what words to use and I sort of stumble over myself as I speak. It doesn't matter much, though, because Purnia won't hear of it. She interrupts my awkward rambling, which I've got to admit, I'm kind of thankful for.

"Thread had it coming to him for a long time," she says in a flat voice, this time keeping her tone steady even as Mrs. Everdeen pokes around the wound, trying to clean it. "So there's really nothing to thank me for. I would have killed Romulus even if you and your brother weren't there."

I meet her eyes and nod, which I know is the closest to a thank you she'll ever let me get.

"But I _am_ glad I got to help you out," she adds, as Mrs. Everdeen finishes tying the knot of fabric- which is making do as a bandage- tightly around Purnia's leg.

"Trust me, we appreciate it." I say. Then, turning to Mrs. Everdeen, I ask, "Speaking of which, have you seen him anywhere? Rory, I mean."

This time Mrs. Everdeen is the one to smile faintly. "He and Prim are asleep. They both stayed up all night helping set this up and treat the most urgent patients, and when it calmed down a little, I let them go. They're by the cabin where your mother is."

"All right, thanks. I'm going to go check on them if that's okay."

Mrs. Everdeen nods her approval, and I look at Purnia again. "Honestly, Purnia, thank you. For everything. I wouldn't be here without you."

She shrugs. "And none of us would be _here_ without _you_. I consider the debt repaid." She adds a final smile to the sentence- which for some reason makes me think of Katniss, who so rarely smiles- and then I leave, feeling simultaneously relieved and disturbed.

The truth? As happy as I am that _I'm_ alive, I've been worried sick about Katniss. These past few hours have been excruciating because, now that things out here are mostly set up, I've had time to think. And that's exactly what I didn't want.

My mind's been a storm of ideas, trying to come up with who took Katniss, where they took her, whether or not she's even still alive- every possible question there is to be asked, I've already asked it to myself. Then, of course, there are always the questions that deal more selfishly with _me_ and my personal survival- how long are we going to be out here in the woods? Are we really supposed to make a permanent civilization out here? Sure, Katniss and I had talked about living in the woods, but that was always with a small group of people, not a number as insanely vast as eight hundred and fifty-seven. The logistics of it- having all of us survive on minimal food- are just too crazy to be considered.

And yet, I find that I'm almost… not concerned about it. I don't know how to explain it, but something tells me these living arrangements aren't going to be permanent. Something about this whole situation makes me think of the big breath you take before plunging yourself underwater- as though we're only waiting for something more important to happen.

I'm not sure what I'm waiting for, though. I just know that I'll recognize it when it happens.

As I head back over to the patch of ground my mother's claimed for our family, I pass the cooking pots of Greasy Sae, who has also been working non-stop since we arrived. We've sort of put her in charge of making our fresh food last so all eight hundred and fifty-seven of us can get food on a semi-regular basis. She's bent over her soups and stews (which, granted, are mostly water) and steam rises up from them in spirals of silver that are a sharp contrast to the black smoke from last night.

Greasy Sae keeps stirring one of the larger pots, which she was insightful enough to bring, and a young man comes jogging out of the woods into the clearing where we are, making his way towards the soups.

"Greasy Sae, we've got a few more rabbits for you!"

That's Liam calling, one of the five surviving hunters who made it out of District Twelve. He's walking towards Greasy Sae and her cooking pots with three rabbits gripped in his hands, his eyes bright with pride and excitement. I know how he feels- it's been such a long time since I've gone out in the woods that even though I know I shouldn't be, I'm _almost_ a little happy to be out here, despite all of the horrors that have happened to force me into coming.

I mean, obviously I'm not happy, but I can't deny how _good_ it feels to be out in the open again. It's been so long since I've had a chance to do any of this that I'd almost forgotten how it feels to be hunting at all.

"Bring them to the pot, boy," calls Greasy Sae, who's busy stirring the mixture in her largest soup pot with something that seems like cheerfulness. Out of all of us, Greasy Sae seems to be the happiest. Most of her family made it out of District Twelve, and the fact that we need her to help cook for almost nine hundred people seems to give her more of a reason for happiness- she's thriving, trying to come up with concoctions to make our food stretch further.

I mean, none of the food she makes is any less dubious than usual, but for nine hundred literally starving people, the source doesn't seem to matter quite as much.

Last night, after arriving here at the lake and having the five other hunters come and talk to me, we worked out a schedule so that there would always be at least one experienced hunter with all of the other people we were trying to teach. We figured that with almost nine hundred people we'd need every able-bodied person to help gather food, so we've split up everyone so there's usually about fifteen people out with each hunter at a time. Splitting up helps, a little, especially considering the fact that I'm the only one who thought to bring my hunting supplies- everyone else's was destroyed in the bombing.

The good thing is that all six of us have different specialties, so we're bringing in a lot of different sources of food. There's me, obviously, and my snares (I rigged a bunch of them yesterday when we arrived). Then there's Liam, who's primarily an archer. He's not as good as Katniss, but he never tried to sell his wares back in the District; mostly he kept his kills for himself and his family. And besides, we don't really need the precise kills that Katniss has always been known for- as long as the animal is dead, that's fine enough for Greasy Sae. Sometimes she'll even take the living ones.

Then there's Janis and her daughter Sophie, both women who are mainly fishers. Sophie's already woven us a few nets, which is great because it turns out the lake actually has quite a few fish in it, and almost anyone- no matter what age- can throw in a net and drag a few up.

Flint and Carson are trappers, too, like me, but they also know quite a bit about plants. They've already brought in armfuls of food and they double-check everything other people bring back, just to make sure no one accidentally picks up something poisonous.

Earlier they brought Greasy Sae some katniss tubers to boil, from the lake, which she promptly served to anyone who was nearby and hungry, but I wouldn't take any. I don't care how hungry I am- there's no way I can eat them. Not now, when I don't even know if Katniss is alive or dead.

So with that cheerful thought in my mind, I reach my family's spot on the browning grass. My mother isn't here, and neither are Posy or Vick- they're probably off, helping some other family- but Rory and Prim are. They're lying asleep on the fallen leaves, their hands gripped together even though neither of them are awake. The sight of it makes me smile, a little. I had wanted to wake them up, but right now I can't quite convince myself to drag either of them out of their sleep into reality. Not when reality is so much worse than any nightmare either of them could have.

I take one more look at the two of them and then walk away, trying to think of something I can do to be useful. Being injured sucks.

I decide to go ahead and help the group of people who are fishing on the edge of the lake. There are a couple of kids throwing nets into the water haphazardly, and with them are a few adults, including Janis and Sophie, who are dragging out the bigger nets, each with a few fish in them, wriggling helplessly as they're pulled from the water.

As I come closer, all the fishers greet me by name, which is slightly strange since I don't even know any of them very well. It's weird because all of a sudden all of the survivors seem to know who I am- I've accumulated a completely disorienting sort of fame for being the one to lead us out, and somehow people, even the ones I don't know, can recognize me on sight. The only person I know here besides Janis or Sophie is a girl named Delly, one of the merchant's daughters, who's about my age. She's helping some of the smaller children with a net, holding a little girl's hand, and talking to all of them with something close to cheer in her voice.

I walk over and sit down next to her, my injured arm pulled across my chest because of the sling.

"Hi, Gale." It's strange to see her smiling at me, as though she's genuinely happy to see me. I can't even believe she can remember my name- we almost never interact.

"Hey, Delly," I say, watching as she untangles some fish from a net and puts them in the bucket next to her. I feel weird, sitting here, not doing anything, wishing I could help out with _something_. Unfortunately, having my arm in a sling is kind of making me useless. I sort of search my mind for a topic to talk about. "How's the fishing?"

"Oh, it's good, I guess," she says, still smiling, even though there's something in her voice that seems just on the verge of breaking into tears. "Tessa and James have been doing very well, haven't you?" That's referring to the small children at her side, who both nod solemnly at me.

"Look, they've already caught a couple of fish." Delly points out the bucket at their side that's holding about three fish.

Tessa- who looks about Posy's age- takes the thumb out of her mouth long enough to say, "I caught the shiny one." And then she puts the thumb back into her mouth, her large blue eyes meeting mine.

"That's really impressive, Tessa," I say, but she doesn't seem interested in what I have to say. She goes back to Delly and climbs onto her lap. "Is she your sister?" I ask Delly. They look enough alike. Both blonde and blue eyed. Tessa even has little curls in her hair that make her look like some sort of princess. A dirty, hungry princess, but a princess nonetheless.

Delly shakes her head. "No, I'm not related to either of them. There's just me and my brother Oliver. Tessa and James were our neighbors, back in town, and their parents…" she trails off, leaving me to make some pretty terrible assumptions about the fate of their parents, and this time there are tears in her eyes. "But they've got me now, so that's okay, at least. Besides, Tessa's really sweet. And James can always make me laugh."

"You're a saint, Delly," I tell her, watching James splash in the water.

"That's not true, but thanks."

I look down at the lake in the silence that follows, seeing my reflection for the first time since the firebombing. I'm shocked to find that I almost don't recognize my own face. Half of it is burned an angry, fiery red, as though only one side of me was caught in an explosion. The other half looks tired and old and more like my father's than I've ever seen it. I raise a hand to my burnt side, and flinch back when my hand brushes against the blistered skin.

"Ow," I say, and then I let out a surprised sort of laugh at my own stupidity that really has no humor in it at all. My face is burned- of course I shouldn't be touching it.

But Delly's eyes meet mine with genuine concern in them. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm-" I start to say the word 'fine,' but find that I can't quite force it out of my mouth. It's just too big of a lie, right now. Of course I'm not fine. None of us are fine. Every single one of us has had people we love die- including Delly, otherwise I'm sure her parents would be somewhere around here- and there is just no _way_ I can possibly be 'fine.'

I pause, change my mind, and say, "You know what, Delly? I think I'm going to go check on my snares, see if I've caught anything yet. Take a walk out in the woods."

"You're going off on your own?" she asks. When I nod, she says, "Wow, I could never do that. "

"I'm used to it, I guess," I answer.

There's a moment where neither of us speaks, and then she smiles again. "All right," she says. "It was really nice talking to you, though. I'm glad you're doing well- say hello to your mother for me, would you?"

"I will," I say. My mom used to do her family's laundry, back in the District. "It was good talking to you too." I rise to my feet. I mean, it _is_ always nice to talk to Delly but she's such an undeniably good person that I almost feel dirty just being next to her. I'm not as kind as she is even when I'm trying to be- so honestly Delly just makes me realize exactly how horrible of a person I am. From what I understand, though, she's got the effect on practically everyone, so it's not anything particularly special.

As I walk away from the lake, I'm sheltering my hurt arm against my body like I'm trying to protect it from something. I consider going to tell someone else where I'm going more specifically, but I figure I'll be back in just a little bit and besides, I kind of want some time to be alone. I'm not a little kid- someone doesn't have to know where I am every moment of the day.

I walk off into the woods, mentally retracing the path I took when I was setting up the snares. It's not hard for me to remember where they are, even though there are a lot of them. But it might take me a while to collect the game from all of them- last night when I was setting them I tried to make them as far from the camp as I could possibly have them, but relatively close to the path back to the District. I didn't want the overwhelming scent of people to make the game any more afraid than they'd already be, but I wanted the traps to be easy to find.

Rory helped me with some of the snares, actually. It was hard for me to tie the knots one-handed (Prim absolutely forbade me from using my left hand) so I got Rory to do some of the knots for me late last night. Flint and Carson, the other trappers, helped a lot too.

The woods are quiet and peaceful. They're not the ghostly silence of last night; rather, they're filled with the sounds I've always expected from a forest. Birds in the trees above me, insects in the air and on the plants, a gentle wind rustling the leaves… the sunshine falls through the canopy overhead in thinly slanted beams of dusty gold that create shimmering stripes in the air and cause warmth to fall across me in rows.

And it feels so, so good.

Truthfully, I'm not getting much accomplished- most of my traps from last night are still empty, and I'm really just taking some time to walk out in the trees on my own. I don't know how long I've been out here- I sort of lose track as I walk, although one glance up at the sun tells me that it's getting late.

But I still have time. Besides, the way the breeze feels on my face is fantastic- like it's cooling down the burns that are probably going to end up as scars.

I'm near one of my noose traps- I was optimistically hoping to catch something pretty large, a coyote, maybe- and it's, predictably, untouched. I don't walk any further because it's hanging at a dangerous level in between two bushes, and I definitely don't want to be caught in this. So instead, I'm just bending down to check on a smaller ground snare about forty feet away when I hear it.

A human voice.

I freeze, initially (instinctively) afraid that it's going to be a Peacekeeper or some other government official and I'm going to be caught, but then I remind myself I don't have to worry about that anymore. I have every right to be out here in the woods, and there's nothing anyone can to do me about that right now.

My next thought is that somehow this person- people?- is a survivor from District Twelve who found the path, but can't find their way to our camp. Feeling worried and hoping I can help them, I straighten up and call out, "Hello? Anybody there?"

For a moment there's no answer and I'm afraid that maybe I'm losing my mind and I've just imagined the whole thing. But about half a minute later I can hear footsteps tramping through the trees to my right and a voice, muttering about something.

I can't quite make out the exact words, but I can hear things like "fire" and "death" and "bombs" and I know that it's got to be someone from the District. Probably several people, judging by the heavy tread. Either that, or it's one person who has never learned how to walk properly. Or who has a fake leg. Or some other impairment, because that's a whole lot of noise for just one person.

I call out again, moving closer to the sound. "Hey! Who's there?"

Still no answer. This strikes me as ominous and I don't call again. After all, there's no way whoever it was didn't hear me, and as much as I've got good intentions, I just have too much of a sense of self-preservation to even potentially put myself in any danger.

But the feet are coming closer anyway, and I know they'll probably pass close by me pretty soon.

This time, though, I can hear the words. "-burned down the whole effing district, skeletons on the ground… dead wife dead kids dead me-"

The words are jarring and mumbled and coming from the mouth of someone who's obviously severely in shock… the words sound insane, the tone even more so. Like something fake that's been animated and forced into life, almost unbelievable, a replication of something real. I try to move away from the sound, not thinking as I back away from it. It's a man, I think. But I can't be positive.

Until he bursts through the trees.

And there he is, all of a sudden, lumbering towards me without even seeing me, but from my spot crouching on the ground, _I_ recognize _him_.

Lucien Allsbright.

And he doesn't even look entirely human anymore.

I'd been wondering about him, actually. When we counted the survivors from Twelve I made certain to find out if Lucien was in our camp. It turned out that he wasn't, and so I had just assumed that he'd died back in Twelve like so many others did.

Clearly, I was wrong.

My gaze darts around, looking for a tree or something to hide behind, but there's no way I can move _out_ of the way without drawing attention to myself, which is something I definitely don't want to do. Not based on the look in Lucien's eyes. It's a look of hatred, of desperation, of a rabid desire for _something_, although I'm not entirely sure what. It's the sort of look that doesn't belong on a human face, but it's there and it's dangerous and it's real.

And studying him, I suddenly understand why he was making so much noise as he was moving- one of his legs is twisted and bloody, almost as bad as Purnia's, and he's got dried blood caked on his head and in his hair. His left ear is burned and scarred and dripping with fresh blood and ripped so it doesn't even resemble human flesh anymore, and from what I can see of his face and his arm, they match the ear. His clothes are torn and there's something slung across his chest but I'm not quite sure what it is and I don't really care to find out.

Whatever explosion he was in got him badly- he's almost unrecognizable, a mad giant lumbering through the brush.

"-Going to die out here, ready to die out here, please let me die out here, just want to die-"

He's lost his mind. I don't know what happened to him but he's _not_ him anymore, which may or may not be a good thing. I hate myself for it, but I'm a little afraid of him, unsure of what he'll do, terrified that if he tries anything in this insane state of mind I won't be able to stop him because of my arm. But that's stupid. He probably won't even notice me, much less try something.

Once again demonstrating my ability to be entirely wrong one hundred percent of the time, it's at that precise moment that Lucien's bloodshot eyes snap down to me.

Crap.

There's no avoiding this anymore.

"Lucien?" My voice is tentative as I say his name gently, trying to keep my tone calm to help calm him down too. Whatever hell he's been through, he's obviously unstable and that is really the most worrisome thing. Actually, he reminds me a little of a rabid dog that we once found in the District- Lucien's got the same look in his eyes that the dog did right before it tried attacking our neighbor.

I don't particularly feel like being attacked.

His eyes seem foggy as they try to focus on me, as though they're not really certain what they're seeing and then they narrow, the pupils visibly dilating as they come to a rest on me.

And I know that he recognizes me now. I'm absolutely positive. Because when he speaks next it's a roar of anger, the sort of sound you never want to hear directed at you.

"THEY'RE DEAD! MY WIFE AND SONS ARE DEAD AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

I didn't even know he had kids. I take a step backwards, holding up my one good hand in the universal sign for 'calm down' and say, "Lucien, I'm sorry, but-"

"SHUT UP! If it weren't for you and your whore and her little TRICK with the GAMES I'd still have a family! I'd still-" I can't understand what he's saying anymore, his words have changed to a stumbling of sound that I'm not entirely convinced are words at all.

I push myself onto the tips of my toes, ready to run, filled with a burst of adrenaline. I'm certain I can outrun him. I know I can go faster than him anyway, but especially today, considering his severely mangled leg. All I have to do is sprint and he'll never find me.

But when I try, when I begin my dash away, I'm hoisted off of my leg, so I fall to the ground, my ankle lifted out from under me. I swear as I collapse, positive of what's happened because it's happened to me so many times before.

I'm an idiot. I am possibly the world's _biggest_ moron, and if I die right here, right now, I'll deserve it.

I am caught in my own snare.

The small one, the ground snare, it's wrapped around my leg- I must have accidentally stepped backwards into it- and it's tied tightly and because I'm useless with only one hand, I probably won't be particularly successful untying it, which is a problem because I've got a psychopathic madman standing right here who wants me dead.

And more than that, no one knows where I am. So when Lucien manages to kill me, my corpse will probably never be discovered.

Great. Really, really great.

I reach my good arm behind me to my leg, reaching for the knot and trying to untie it with one hand- without actually looking at the knot- while I keep my eyes on Lucien.

_Stall stall stall I've got to stall…_

"Lucien, it's not my fault. I'm sorry for your losses, but you can't seriously be blaming me for the bombing-"

"I told you to stop talking." This time, Lucien's voice is quiet and almost calm as he speaks, eerily so. His eyes are clear and for one moment he seems saner than anyone else I've spoken to today. There's still a glint of something malicious in his expression though, as though he's got a secret and it's not something I'll like.

And that's when he whips out the gun.

Oh, crap.

_That's_ what was on his chest. I mean, if I was able to grab a gun from a dead guy during the firebombing, obviously Lucien could have too, and somehow he held on to it the whole time on his way to the camp. I don't know why I'm surprised, honestly I don't. You'd think that at this point in my life I really ought to have learned that anything that can cause me any amount of harm inevitably ends up happening to me. Because I have absolutely no luck whatsoever.

"Lucien, you don't want to do that," I start slowly. "Put it away."

But he's giggling to himself a little madly now, the sane look still in his eyes, but completely gone from his voice. And out comes a rhyme, some sort of children's rhyme that I've never heard before and might never get the chance to hear again.

"Oranges and lemons say the bells of St. Clemens," he garbles, and I have no idea what he possibly means by that but it doesn't matter because I'm slowly inching away from him, still feeling at the rope around my ankle desperately.

"Lucien," I try again, and I'm overwhelmed with a feeling of helplessness that I honestly ought to be used to by now.

But he's pointed the gun at me, taken just a small step closer, and his hands look remarkably steady.

There's a brief moment of sanity as he says, "You really only have yourself to blame. Caught in your own trap… it was inevitable," he says, and directly after he finishes the sentence he sort of jerks into the next one. "When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey." It's almost a mechanical recitation, something he must have learned years ago that the insanity is dragging up through his mind, and I'm scratching at the rope now, feeling my fingers digging into my own skin in my attempt to get free. I'm still inching backwards but Lucien notices and interrupts his rhyme about the bells to bellow, "STOP MOVING, HAWTHORNE!"

I stop moving, but not because I feel like obeying him. Rather, he's swung the long gun around, and whacked me over the head with it. I wasn't expecting him to do that and now my head is spinning, sending the world around me in a mad spiral as I lie on my stomach on the ground where I've fallen.

Lucien keeps on reciting- something about the bells of Stepney, whatever those are supposed to be- and even if I wasn't caught in my own trap like the fool I am, I'm almost positive I've got a concussion. The whole world is swirling and colorful and oddly out of focus, like a poorly developed picture. I think I gasp out a word, something close to "Stop" or maybe even "Please," but Lucien doesn't hear me because he's too busy reciting his mind-broken words.

But then Lucien breaks off mid-word, whatever line he was on ending sharply as he shouts, "THEY'RE DEAD AND NOW YOU'RE GOING TO BE DEAD TOO! THEY BURNED AND THEY SUFFERED AND SO WILL YOU AND YOU'LL DESERVE IT, YOU'LL DESERVE-" Lucien's head slants towards one side jerkily and he goes back to his rhyme in a harsh sort of whisper.

I hurt too badly to answer, to say anything at all. I can handle an angry person just fine- but someone who's crazy… how am I supposed to predict anything that he does?

He's finishing up his rhyme now and the ending lines are accentuated with more blows to my body.

"Here comes the candle to light you to bed, here comes the chopper to chop off your head, chop, chop, chop-" Each word is a swing of the gun against me, although these are all landing on my ribs and as he finishes his words he lets out a high, giddy sort of laugh- "the last man's dead!"

I'm filled with a burning sort of pain and I know that my ribs- at least one of them- have to be broken because right now I can't even move due to the intense agony in my chest and torso. Lucien raises the gun a final time and I know this one is aimed at my head-

And as he brings it down I roll over despite the pain screeching throughout my entire body, even though I'm still attached to the snare by my ankle.

The butt of the gun slams into the ground beside me, and I quickly roll the other direction, trying to ram into Lucien and make him fall, too, but he manages to jump out of my way, the gun still in his hands.

And now he's trying to slam it into me again, but I'm scrambling backward despite the fact that I can't breathe, moving backwards repeatedly and making Lucien keep stepping forward, coming in the same direction as me, closer and closer to the base of my ground snare.

And suddenly I've got a plan.

Lucien keeps taking odd, jolting steps forward, trying to swing the gun at me the way a person might try to swat at a pesky insect. He's not firing it, which is good at least- I think probably whatever broke in his mind has made him not realize that he could kill me much more quickly if he would just shoot. I mean, I'm not complaining, this way is at least giving me a chance to get away, but still. It's hurting me, badly, and I can feel the air in my lungs being cut off with each second that passes.

As I scoot backwards, I make sure to stick to the edge of the small clearing for part of it, dragging my broken arm behind me, feeling the rope around my ankle go taut and dig into my skin as I start getting further away from the base of the snare. But I'm almost where I want to be, shoving myself backwards through some bushes that are almost touching, knowing that if I could stand up, I wouldn't be able to fit through the small gap between them at all.

Lucien ducks down to come between the plants after me, still ranting about me and how I'm going to die.

And that's when it happens.

Without any warning, Lucien jerks to a stop, a rope fastened tightly around his neck. He tries to pull away from it but it only cinches tighter around him, and now he's making these awful choking sounds as he scratches at his neck with his fingers desperately.

He's caught. In my coyote trap.

It was what I was trying to get to happen- I'd been dragging myself in the direction of the suspended noose slowly the whole time, hoping I could get Lucien as caught as I am. I wasn't specifically intending to kill him, I didn't really want to hurt him at all. But as much as I didn't want to hurt him, I didn't want him to hurt me, either.

Part of me- a small, tiny part- is telling me that I ought to try to help him. Lucien's mind has snapped; he can't help anything he's done today. He doesn't deserve whatever this snare is going to do to him. But the rest of me knows that if I don't end this now, he's never going to stop until he kills me. Before I can make up my mind about whether or not I ought to even even try to rise onto my feet, he's been dragged off of his, doing an odd sort of jerking dance with all of his weight supported by his neck. In mere seconds, I know just by looking at him that he's dead, and that this knowledge ought to make me feel guilty.

I killed this man.

He's dead, and it's my fault.

But if I'm telling the truth, I hurt far too badly to feel any regret at all. All I honestly feel is relieved.

Only feet from Lucien's still-swaying body, my surge of adrenaline finally leaves my body and I collapse to the forest floor, exhausted.

* * *

Time passes. I don't know how much. It's hard to tell when each breath in makes me black out from all the damage done to my ribs.

The sun gets lower and I still haven't moved from the spot where I fell. I know my mother's got to be worried sick about me- maybe I really should have told someone where I was going- and I'm floating in a strange sort of reality that reminds me very much of unconsciousness.

I think I hear my name.

But I can't work up the energy needed to respond to the call, and I'm not even sure if it's real or not, so I close my eyes, letting the warmth of the sun lull me into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

When I wake up, it's because someone is standing over me.

The sun is much, much lower in the sky, burning on the edge of the horizon far below the trees, and I know it's almost night.

"Gale!" The person is saying my name over and over again, insistently calling me out of the darkness.

"Leave me alone," I try to say, but the words won't quite leave my mouth and whoever the person standing over me is just won't do what I'm telling him to. His face is blocked out by an intense backlighting from the setting sun.

"Gale, what happened?" The person draws nearer and I can see his face now.

"Liam?" My lips move and I don't know if he can hear me or not. Something in my ears feels off, like I can't hear my own voice. It worries me, a little, but my mind is too foggy to really explain to myself why that ought to worry me at all.

"Gale! What happened to you? We've been looking everywhere for you!" Liam's got an unlit candle in one hand, as though he's been searching for me all afternoon and was prepared to stay out all night to keep it up.

"Fell," I say, too disoriented and tired to come up with a better story.

He examines me like I'm a giant mess for him to clean up- if I look even half as bad as I feel, then that is definitely an accurate assessment- and then gets to work untying the rope that's still around my ankle.

"I'm going to lift you up now," says Liam slowly, like he's talking to a child. I want to explain to him that I understand, but I can't quite get my lips to move the right way. "If it hurts you, scream. Or pass out. Or whatever it is you can do right now."

I don't say anything as Liam helps me to my feet. I can't. I'm hurting far too badly, aching in my arm from last night and in my chest from where Lucien pounded against me. When I'm finally standing upright, though, leaning against Liam like my entire body is just dead weight, I do find my words. All I say is a hoarse cough. "Lucien's dead."

Liam freezes, my good arm draped over his shoulder. "What?"

"Lucien Allsbright. He's dead." I cough, jab my head back in the direction of the body. "Fell into one of my traps. An accident," I mutter, but I know the truth.

I killed him.

Maybe not with my own hands, but it was my trap. I knew what would happen to him if he got caught in it. It was my fault.

There were a lot of times that I wanted to ask Katniss what it was like to kill someone. Maybe I thought it was too childish of a question, maybe I knew it was something she would never want to talk about… in any case, I never asked her.

I know now, though. Killing someone isn't what you think it's going to be like at all- it's so, so easy.

And so, so hard.

Liam answers me but I don't know what he says. My mind has completely skipped out on me as he mostly drags me back to the camp. I can't walk no matter how badly I want to, and I know that I won't make it back to the lake all the way if he keeps tugging me along the way he is.

I'm right. We don't get very far before I pass out again. And this time I don't wake up until I'm all the way back in camp.

* * *

When I finally open my eyes, the sun is low in the sky again, only this time I know that it's definitely morning, not night. I'm lying propped up against a pack of something that's on the soft, moist ground, right by the edge of the lake.

I can see my mom standing nearby, talking with someone else- Mrs. Everdeen?- in whispered tones, and I struggle to force myself into an upright position. I can't quite manage it, but Mrs. Everdeen notices that I'm awake because of all the rustling I'm making as I attempt to shift my weight. She whispers something to my mother, who turns around to look at me. I'm expecting some sort of overjoyed greeting but all I get is a terse, "Oh, so you're finally awake?"

"I think," I answer, and my voice has a little bit more strength in it than it did last night. My ribs feel slightly better- they're wrapped and supported by some sort of fabric- and I study my mom. She looks so tired that instantly I feel guilty for having given her anything more to worry about. She already has a ton of crap to deal with.

"Well, that's good at least. You know, dear, you're awfully injured for someone who- and I quote- 'fell.'" Her voice sounds pointed and the smallest bit annoyed, like she knows I lied to Liam and wishes that I hadn't.

"Sorry," I mutter.

Her eyebrows arch in disbelief. "So you stand by what you told Liam? That Lucien Allsbright died and you bruised- or possibly even broke- three ribs in an accident?"

"Yes," I say. I'm not sure I can manage much more than two words at a time.

She lets out a sigh. "All right then. I still don't believe you, but I believe that whatever happened was something I don't have to worry about. Because I'm trusting you." She looks into my eyes and to my surprise hers are filled with tears. "Gale, I was terrified. I thought you'd been killed. Are you-" she searches my eyes like she knows something's happened to me that's left me changed- "are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I have to make myself drop my eyes from hers. I can tell that she can tell that something really serious has happened, and I hate that my face is so readable. But my mom doesn't press me for an answer.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She looks at me again and then says, "Moore says he wants to talk to you."

"He's back?" I'm genuinely interested.

"His group got back early this morning. They picked up some more people, but I'm not sure exactly how many just yet." My mother pauses, takes a long look at me, and then sighs. "I'm so glad you're okay. Please don't get hurt again. I couldn't bear it if something were to happen to you."

"No promises," I say with a faint smile, sleepily. My mother bends over me and kisses my forehead.

"I'll go get Moore."

"I'll be right here," I call as she walks away. It's supposed to be a joke- both of us know that I'm not going to be walking anywhere just yet. Not with the injuries I've accumulated.

When she comes back with Moore at her side, all Moore says at first is, "We found eleven more."

"That's good," I answer half-heartedly. I know that it's not really what Moore wants to talk to me about and he seems to realize that I don't feel like playing along. He drops the cheerful tone.

"Allsbright is dead?" is his follow-up question.

I nod, feeling insanely tired.

Moore lets out a small hum as he thinks. Then, after a long moment of silence, "It's a good thing you weren't killed, you know that, Hawthorne?"

"Um, yes?" I say, feeling like this has got to be a trick question because the answer is just too easy. But Moore surprises me with his next comment.

"And not just because I was genuinely worried about you." His eyes find mine and he obviously registers the confusion all over my face because he says, "Gale, you're a hero now. To all of these people, you're the face of the person who gave them life- it was _you_ that led them out of the District and it's you they've got their faith placed in, and if you were to be killed, these people would lose hope that things might be okay. Everything- their morale, their dreams, _everything_- are depending on you."

My mind is spinning. "So you're saying I'm- what, some kind of figurehead?"

Moore shrugs. "I'm just saying you're more important to these people than you think. And that I'm glad you're okay."

I don't know what to say to that, so it's a good thing Moore keeps speaking, changing the topic abruptly.

"Greasy Sae's cooking up a storm, but I'm still concerned that we're not making enough. Any ideas on how to increase the food supply?"

"Well, did your crew find anything useful back in the District?"

"Not much. Most of it was in ashes when we got there."

We keep talking for a while, planning out the division of the few supplies his crew brought back to the lake, and when he finally leaves, it's a long time before I stop thinking about what he's said.

And it's even longer before the image of Lucien's oxygen-starved face leaves my mind.

* * *

The hours pass. I can't really move around quite as much as I'd like to- Prim and Mrs. Everdeen aren't sure of which ribs are broken and which are just bruised- but I find ways to help out. Organizing crews of hunters, builders, gatherers, making sure that things are going the way we want them to be going… each moment, though, I'm still worrying about Katniss. Despite this, I'm finding that there's something almost exhilarating about being out here, surviving just on what we can find. It's what I've dreamed of doing my whole life. And now it's happening. Which is simultaneously exciting and terrifying.

The terrifying bit is perhaps the most evident- tree more of our group die on the next day. Their remaining family and friends sob over their bodies, and for some reason it seems worse, for them to have made it this far and to have safety taken so firmly from them. My heart aches for these people but there's nothing I can do about it.

There's not much I can do about anything, really. Besides sit around and wait for my ribs and arm to heal.

I'm beginning to go crazy from the boredom and the worry. I just wish _something_ would happen, and _soon_, and it's clear that I'm not the only one who's getting frustrated with the stagnancy of our position. Tempers are thinner than ever before, and it seems that finally the survivors are allowing themselves to mourn their lost ones, because there's an unshakable feeling of gloom that's settled over the entire camp. We all just want something big to happen, some sort of decision that will give us a new direction.

We get our wish. Two days later, something happens that changes our position forever, that makes it so none of us can ever go back to the way things were. That forever erases any remnants of the innocent coal miners and merchants and students that used to live in District Twelve.

Because on the third day, the hovercrafts come.


	13. Chapter 13

_Well… I'm done._

_ This is it. As of this moment, Chapter Thirteen (which is thirteen pages long and includes the word "thirteen" thirteen times (all coincidences, by the way)) is the end. _

_That feels so strange to me- the fact that I'm _done._ Three years after I began writing this (I'm slow, I know) and I'm _done. _Or at least, I'm at the ending point of Catching Fire, which is where I first envisioned this going- and stopping._

_ I hope you all have enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. (I _am_ considering taking on Mockingjay from Gale's point of view- the real question is would you want to read that? Or would it be too much?) In any case, thank you to everyone who has ever reviewed, favorited, or story-alerted this story. I've put so much effort into this and you all are the reason that I bother that all._

_ And now, without further ado, I present to you... Chapter Thirteen._

* * *

I'm asleep when the first hovercraft flies overhead.

It's the noise that comes with its appearance that truly pulls me from my dreams into wakefulness- I'm a light sleeper by nature. But it's not the actual the sounds that the hovercraft is making that jolt me out of my sleep. Rather, it's everyone else's reactions to them.

There are a lot of screams. Many of the smaller children are crying. I don't blame them- after all, it was only three days ago that similar hovercrafts nearly killed every one of us. Beyond that, hovercrafts are what always remove the bodies during the Games- to these children, the machines currently flying above our heads are the ultimate symbol of death and destruction. So their fear is certainly warranted.

I instantly assume it's the Capitol, back to try to finish off the rest of us refugees, and I sit up, ignoring the shooting pains in my ribs. There's this sinking feeling in my stomach- we're weak and pretty beat up, and I don't know that we can survive another attack when it comes. I mean, obviously we're going to have to try, but everything just seems so unbearably hopeless right now that for a brief moment, I actually have to ask myself "what's the point?". But the moment passes as quickly as it hits, and before I think about it much more, I'm already calling out to my family, barking orders at everyone else, ready to run. I should have known the lake would be too conspicuous- the clearing probably stands out from the air, a huge bald patch of land and water in the middle of the mountains. I've pulled on my shoes and started rolling up the blankets and am completely prepared to abandon camp-

And that's when the hovercraft leaves.

No bombs, no bullets. Nothing.

I break off in the middle of my sentence, mid-word, staring up at the sky, hoping I don't look as entirely puzzled as I feel.

Before I know it, Moore's come to my side, echoing my confusion.

"What was that about?"

I shake my head once, slowly, trying to think. "I- don't know."

There's silence- utter silence, complete silence, the kind that can only happen when even the birds have been scared away.

"If it was the Capitol, why didn't they attack? They obviously could see us from the sky- we were totally exposed," I muse. I don't really expect Moore to have an answer, and mostly I was just talking out loud in order to make myself think better. So I'm surprised when Moore offers me the one solution I won't let myself come up with on my own.

"Maybe it wasn't the Capitol."

I raise my eyebrows, frowning down at the ground. "So, where, then, District Eleven? Certainly not from ours, any government vehicles remaining there would have been destroyed-"

"Not from the Districts," says Moore quietly.

I just stare at him. For a very, very long time. Then, slowly, I say, "Where else do you think it could be from?"

He doesn't look away from my gaze. "I don't know for sure. But I've… well, if there _was_ a rebellion, don't you think they'd want to help us out?"

"I… I don't know." My gaze turns skyward, and I fixate on the bit of blue visible through the trees. "Honestly, I'm not so sure they'd care. They haven't done anything to help us yet."

"Well maybe-"

But that's when Rory comes running up to Moore and I, interrupting us. "There wasn't a Capitol seal!" he exclaims, his eyes glinting with that familiar exuberant _Rory-_ness that is so reminiscent of- well, of me.

"What?"

"The hovercraft! I could see its design, and there wasn't a seal!" His eyes are darting back and forth between Moore and I, hoping we see the conclusion he's clearly drawn from this small detail.

Both Moore and I do see it.

"So they aren't the Capitol's," says Moore carefully, looking at me to see how I'm responding. "Maybe they _are_ from the rebellion."

There's a long moment while we all think over what this could mean for the rest of the survivors, and I finally let out a sigh. "As long as they don't try to kill us, does it really matter?" I ask tiredly. I rub at my temples wearily, closing my eyes. "I didn't really mean that," I correct myself immediately. "I just- what good is it going to do to theorize about who they are if they're not coming back and we don't have a way to flag them down?"

Rory's eyes are still wide. "Gale," he says slowly. "If it really is a rebellion, they're going to come back. They just _are_." He says it plainly, his voice filled with faith at any rebellion's inherent goodness. "They wouldn't let our whole District die. Not since they saw how many of us there are. They're probably just… getting reinforcements or supplies or whatever it is rebellions have that could help us!"

I look at Moore, shaking my head disbelievingly, but I can see that he agrees with Rory. "I think your brother's right," he says to me. "If they _are _the… rebellion… they're not going to leave us here. And if they're the Capitol, they would have killed us all already."

I frown, but I know he and Rory have a point. "So, we just wait here?"

Moore shrugs. "I don't really see any other option, do you?"

"Not really, no." I sigh, looking at my brother and cradling my bad arm protectively against my chest. "And if people ask us about it, you want us to what, just tell them the truth? That we're waiting to see if they come back to murder us all?"

"If you have a better plan, Hawthorne, feel free to enlighten us," says Moore seriously. I'm not sure if he's trying to be biting or not, so I just ignore it and take his sentence at face value.

"I'm sorry," I say truthfully at long last. "I just don't like sitting here, waiting for a trap to be sprung on us. It's making me twitchy."

"We don't know that there will be a trap at all," Moore points out.

"But there could be," I answer.

My mother has found her way to us finally from where she had been with Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, her eyes slightly afraid. "Did you see that?"

"Yeah, Mom, of course we saw it," Rory replies, rolling his eyes. "It'd be kinda hard to miss the giant floating metal vehicle in the sky."

She raises her eyebrows at his tone of voice and he instantly de-puffs, slouching where he stands. "Sorry," he mutters. "That was rude."

Mom, who of course can take everything in her stride, just nods at her son's apology and keeps talking. "Why do you think they didn't attack?"

Both Moore and I answer at the same time. I say, "They still might," and Moore says, "We don't think they were the Capitol." We look at each other, and then back at my mother, and finally I say, "We're not really sure. But they could come back at any mo-"

And that's when they do.

The metallic buzzing and rushing of wind that accompanies all hovercrafts fills the sky and Moore, my mother, Rory and I all look up at the air above us, suddenly filled with tension. This could be it. The moment when we find out whether or not they intend to kill us. Mom's hand finds my good one and squeezes, ripping her eyes off of the hovercraft above us only to find Vick and Posy. If we have to run, she's making sure we take the whole family with us.

My heart is thumping in my chest, pounding out a rhythm that fills my ears and the whole world around me, ominous and anxious. And that's when two more appear in the air.

Three hovercrafts above us now. And not a single person is moving.

And finally, the machines do something none of us really expected.

They don't fire. Not a shot.

Instead, they land.

In one of the few spots not filled with people, where the trees are still spread far from the shore of the water, one of them touches down, the wind from their movements sending up piles of leaves spiraling into the air.

Some people are actually moving closer- Moore included- and he disappears among the other people, forcing his way towards the hovercraft.

Vick's mouth is hanging open slightly at the sight of the giant vehicle. "Is it going to hurt us?" he asks quietly, his voice rasping in a hoarse whisper.

There really isn't a Capitol seal on the hovercraft. So when I answer my little brother, I'm being honest. "No," I say. "I- I don't think it will."

There's not enough room for the second hovercraft to land here, but as the motors turn off and the leaves settle back to the ground around the machine, a small crowd is forming. We stay away from the machine, enough that we're probably out of range unless whoever is on the ship has some pretty long-range weapons, but we're close enough that we can see what's going on over there anyway..

The doors to the hovercraft open with a long and loud hiss as the compressed air from inside is released into the chilly sky, and the crowd collectively flinches at it, without tearing our eyes away from the sight.

My mom's nails dig into my palms.

And then we see the people.

Five of them walk down the gangway, adults dressed in white jackets, clearly doctors. Closely following them as they survey the crowd is a woman, dressed simply, but with such a commanding air around her that there's no question in my mind that she's the person in charge here.

Now, though, the real question is just: _in charge of what_?

And I'm about to have my question answered.

The doctors stop at the base of the gangway, bags of equipment in their hands, seemingly prepared to come to our rescue. There's a sturdy-looking man with grey hair and blue eyes who's standing at the woman's side, looking around warily with a large gun held in his hands. He doesn't look like he's going to use it but he certainly looks like he knows how to in the event that it becomes necessary to do so. The woman with him stops about midway up the gangway, and when she speaks, her voice carries. Maybe she has some sort of high-tech microphone that we can't see. I don't know, but I know that everyone within our small makeshift camp can most likely hear her every word.

"Which one of you is the leader here?" The speaker is the tall woman with a helmet of silver hair. She's looking around imperiously with calculating eyes. Her voice is steady and commanding, like she's not used to having people ignore her while she speaks.

I'm searching the crowd for Moore, eager to see what happens, but am utterly surprised when I do manage to find him. He's standing incredibly close to the hovercraft and answers the woman by jabbing a thumb in my direction.

"Him as much as anyone else here," he says, and the woman's piercing eyes land on me, turning the heads of most of the crowd in my direction. Posy gasps as everyone turns to stare at my family, and she dashes behind me to hide from them, still gripping tightly to one of my hands.

I'm more than a little taken aback by this, since I really haven't done much besides get myself injured multiple times. Sitting on the sidelines getting hurt really shouldn't count as a quality that's desired in a leader.

But the woman seems to accept the man's explanation because she raises her eyebrows , and then says clearly, "Well, come on then."

Without even considering the implications of my actions, I begin walking forward to meet her. Posy quickly lets go of my hand at the thought of being seen, and my mother lifts her up into her arms, watching me as I walk away from them. I can feel Rory's eyes on my back, burning with pride. Even Vick is looking surprised but pleased.

The woman's resumed her expression of slight indifference as she sees me approaching and measures me up. "My name is Alma Coin," she says, her voice incredibly matter-of-fact. "I represent District Thirteen. We're here to help you."

I try not to let any surprise show on my face, although the crowd of survivors is spreading signs of that emotion enough for all of us, with gasps and whispers to one another. "District Thirteen?" I repeat blankly. I'd never even considered that it could still exist. "Clearly not destroyed, then?"

The woman nods. "Not entirely, no."

Instead of following that line of questioning (as I'm positive I'll be given the answers eventually), I begin to introduce myself. "My name is Ga-"

"We know who you are," she dismisses. Neither of us moves to shake hands. Rather, we stand there, appraising each other. The broad, heavily weaponed man is still standing nearby, watching me talk with Coin wordlessly. "Why don't you come inside so we can talk?"

I begin to move forward but stop myself before I even take a step, shaking my head. "How about we stay out here until you provide me with a legitimate reason to trust you?" I don't mean it rudely, but I don't what to risk anything. And yes, I know that's ridiculous because if she wanted to hurt me or anyone else here she could easily have done it ages ago- either from the sky, or from any one of the millions of opportunities I've given here by just _standing_ here.

But she seems to approve of what I've said because something about her expression _changes_. She doesn't smile, exactly, but something about her seems slightly more pleased. "The promise of food and a place to stay isn't enough for you?"

"No, I can't really say that it is," I answer, letting my eyes drift to my mom, who's looking worried.

Coin raises her left arm to chest-height and I flinch, momentarily afraid she's got a gun. But she doesn't, she just has some sort of communicating device strapped to her wrist, and she proceeds to speak into it.

"Abernathy? The young man that saved everyone here is requesting to speak with you."

A moment later the communicator hisses into life. "From Twelve? Kind of hard to believe anyone there'd want to talk to _me_." The voice is clearly Haymitch's, and he laughs a little hoarsely. "Send him on in." The communicator clicks off.

Coin turns to look at me pointedly. "Is that better?"

I finally nod grudgingly. As much as I don't like Haymitch, I can't deny that I trust him. After all the crap he's been through at the hands of the Capitol, I have a hard time believing he'd ever support them. I'm bursting with questions but Coin doesn't give me a chance to ask them.

Instead she says, "Go straight in, he's in the first room on the left. And don't take too long, Hawthorne, you and I have business to discuss." Then she turns away from me, barking out orders to her medics. "Do a basic check-up on all of the survivors. Treat the serious wounds, diagnose what you can, and make sure to get a-"

But I stop listening, instead ducking down to limp my way through the door and into the hovercraft.

The inside of the craft is streamlined but surprisingly roomy, large enough for multiple rooms and doorways but still aerodynamic. Or as aerodynamic as can be expected from the inside of a hovercraft, anyway. I don't have a hard time finding the door Coin told me about, and I hesitate outside it for a moment, trying to decide whether to knock or to just barge my way in.

It's Haymitch, which prompts me not to bother with knocking, but I decide to anyway just in case someone's in there with him. I bang my fist against the door twice.

"Come in," comes a hoarse voice, and I'm a little surprised at the tone- bordering on civility- but I push open the door and walk inside.

The room is small. It's got a couch, a desk, and some chairs. Haymitch is lounging in a chair behind the desk, looking at papers on it, apparently absorbed in whatever it is he's reading.

He doesn't look up at the sound of me entering. "So. I'm going to meet the kid who single-handedly rescued Twelve."

"Well, I don't know about single-handed, and I'm pretty sure you and I have already met," I reply easily, still standing in the doorway, leaning against one side of the doorframe.

He looks up this time, takes one look at my burnt face, and then bursts out laughing.

"Of course it's you," he exclaims, and his voice seems a little twisted and humorless. Actually, seeing him, it's clear that he's been in some sort of physical fight fairly recently because five long, red lines stretch down his face. He doesn't seem to care- or even _notice_- that I'm staring at the scabs. "All of District Thirteen's in an uproar, terrified that all of Katniss's friends and family have been killed and that she'll never agree to be the Mockingjay now, and here you are, leader of the whole escape attempt! Her family's all right?"

I nod wordlessly and he bangs his hand against the table. "It's just too good!" He's laughing again, but there's something vaguely off about it, like he doesn't think it's funny at but isn't sure how to react. Then he breaks off and takes a real look at me, pulling an expression of disgust. "What happened to your face?"

"You're one to talk," I snap back.

He looks confused momentarily, then raises a hand to his own scarred face, his expression twisting into a sneer. "Katniss," he says, by way of explanation. The name also sounds close to a curse when he says it.

I don't ask about what she did to him. Only, "Where is she?"

Haymitch lets out a derisive scoff, and then mutters something foul. "You're infatuated with her too. I'd forgotten. It's impossible to go anywhere in this country without someone asking me about her."

But I'm not accepting his embittered ramblings as an answer. I stalk closer, trying my hardest to hide my limp as my tone gets lower and more serious.

"Tell me where she is, Abernathy."

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Calm down, Mr. Melodramatic. She's in a room on the ship. Perfectly fine. A little disoriented and angry and injured and sedated, but fine. Oh, and slightly crazy. But there's nothing new _there_."

"What happened in the arena?" I sit down on the couch without asking Haymitch if it's all right. To tell the truth, I really don't care whether he's okay with it or not. I want answers and I'd like them as quickly as possible.

Haymitch sighs, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "What _didn't_ happen in the arena?" The sarcastic tone in his voice is gone for maybe the first time in his life, and he looks up at me with a weary expression. "The Capitol broke in at the same time that we did. We ended up getting a few of the survivors out- Beetee, Finnick, and Katniss. The Capitol took Enobaria, Johanna, and- and Peeta."

I'm not sure who 'we' is referring to, exactly, but I set my expression, feeling oddly chilled by this bit of news. "Are they going to-"

"Torture him? Definitely. If he's lucky they'll go too hard on him and he'll die quick. He's got it better than Johanna does, though. She actually _knows_ worthwhile information." Haymitch's hand reaches outwards like it's trying to find a bottle to drink from, and then he curses as he realizes that nothing's there. "Took away all the booze," he says. I'm staring at his hand, which is shaking with tremors. "It's not _permitted_ in District Thirteen." His voice twists around the words mockingly, but I can tell just how real the problem is. He's having some major withdrawals.

"District Thirteen," I repeat. "They're the ones that broke into the arena? Tell me about them."

Haymitch shrugs. "What's there to tell? You already met the president."

I cough, spluttering in surprise. "The _what_?"

"The president. Alma Coin- she's president of District Thirteen."

I'm staring at Haymitch, dumbfounded. "So, what, it's like its own country?" I don't know very much about government in general- why would I? It's not like the Capitol felt it was really something we ought to learn. But I do know that Districts don't have presidents.

"That's the goal," says Haymitch. "Actually, it's more that they're aiming to take over the country that exists here currently."

"So they're the resistance," I say, finally understanding.

"You're a real clever one, aren't you," Haymitch answers snidely. He kicks off his shoes and stares up at the ceiling, as if there's some deep secret written there for him to read.

I ignore him. "So it really exists? And you're part of it? How long has it been going on? Does Katniss know about it? Did Peeta? Is it inter-district? Why hasn't the Capitol done something to them yet? Is the District armed? Why-"

"Of course it exists, boy. This revolution isn't something that was just recently thought up. It's been around for years. And no," his voice loses some of its biting tone. "Katniss and Peeta didn't know about it."

I can tell he's thinking about Peeta and the inevitable torture that will come to him, pain caused in order to find answers that he won't be able to disclose. Although I have to wonder whether or not it's better for him this way.

All right, it's obviously not better for _him_, but better for the resistance. This way he can't give anything away that might be important. Apparently Johanna Mason can, though. I don't even want to think about what the Capitol is doing to them right now. The possibilities make me feel a little sick-hearted.

"All right," says Haymitch after waiting for me to respond. When I don't, he keeps talking. "Here's what's happening."

He goes on to tell me all about the District. Apparently, in the Dark Days, its primary export wasn't graphite, it was nuclear energy and weapons. I only need that much and then I can make a good guess at what happened.

"They seized control of the weapons, then?" I ask, only it's not really a question, it's a statement. It's the only thing the rebels could have done in order to secure their survival. "They probably threatened the Capitol unless they were left alone. There wasn't much Snow could have done to stop them without assuring mutual destruction, so he had to let them keep existing." I admit it, I'm impressed- I like these District Thirteen people despite myself. They're certainly resourceful, seeing as they've managed to evade the Capitol for seventy-five years. They've _got_ to know what they're doing by now.

"Why bother asking me anything if you already know all the answers?" Haymitch grumbles, leaning back in his chair and putting his shoeless feet up on the desk. He's wearing a pair of socks that are filthy and holey. My mother would be appalled- I know she spent ages darning and re-darning socks for him when she was still his housekeeper.

I ignore him (I'm pretty good at that) and say, "But _you_? How long have _you_ been part of the rebellion?"

"Longer than you've been alive, kid," he says gruffly, his hand twitching out for a bottle that doesn't exist again. Instead he picks up a piece of paper from the table and crushes it in his hand. It's not a motion out of anger, but more out of instinct. Immediately he sets the paper back on the desk and tries to smooth it out.

So Madge was right. Madge, who for all I know is dead- _don't think about it it's not true-_ was actually _right_. Haymitch did know more than he let on. The thought makes me want to laugh, cry, and hit something, all at once.

I have more questions, but Haymitch interrupts me with one of his own. "Twelve?" The single word is enough for me to know what he's asking. His tone is nonchalant, like he doesn't really care, but of course he does. District Twelve was his home just as much as it was mine.

I don't really want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. "Burned to the ground," I answer curtly, which of course he already knows. I can tell that he was hoping for slightly more detail, but he seems to accept that there are some things that, well… that aren't meant to be discussed. He would know, after all. He's seen similar things in his life.

And despite that knowledge, I just can't get their faces to leave my mind.

_Kids, burning to death. Terrified. Melted flesh and the scent of it, on the air, in my lungs, sprinting past the flames and choking on fistfuls of my neighbors. Little bits of Bristel and Madge, floating on the wind._

I swallow, close my eyes to clear my mind, and open them again. Then, doing one of the things I'm best at, I change the topic. "So. Coin. Tell me about her."

Haymitch studies my face to see whether or not I'm all right, and the truth is that I am. Or I will be, anyway. I just want to be able to stop thinking about it.

He finally answers. He tells me how she's strict and ruthless, and positively brilliant at strategy. How she's resourceful, how she's spread the rebellion throughout the districts, how she's made her District militant enough that a full-out resistance has actually begun and- so far- been pretty effective.

"And she's smart," he adds, his voice sounding almost thoughtful. "I mean, yeah, we're here to get you and the Everdeens to bribe Katniss into helping us, but we're also here to offer shelter to the refugees. Coin didn't want to leave you out here, even though we've taken a considerable risk by coming."

I nod, my left arm itching in its sling. "When can I see Katniss?" I ask abruptly.

Haymitch opens his mouth to answer me, but it's not his voice I hear.

"We're going to evacuate everyone before we let you see her, but we'll make sure you're on the same vessel that she is." It's Coin, standing in the doorway, appraising Haymitch and I. I don't know how long she's been there and I'm feeling a little self-conscious that maybe she heard me questioning Haymitch about her, but she doesn't seem to notice. She's not accompanied by the older man this time. "She may not want to talk to you though. I'm not about to mince words with you, Hawthorne. Katniss attempted to commit suicide."

I pull in a sharp gasp of air then let it out angrily. Of course she did. Idiot.

Instantly I feel bad about thinking that and then mentally take it back, but it's true. Even if she thought it was the smartest thing to do, she shouldn't have done it. Not only because I don't want her dead. But because a whole lot of people around the country don't want her dead, either.

Coin walks further into the room, her arms clasped behind her back, staring out the small, round window to the forest around us. "Normally I would say that she's welcome to do with her life what she wishes. But right now this country doesn't need a martyr- goodness knows we've had countless numbers of those. What the people really need is a hero, and she's in perfect position to provide that at _this very moment_. The only problem is that she is incredibly unstable."

I watch her as she speaks, wary. This sort of conversation is only ever followed by a request.

"But she trusts you. Certainly more than her mother, or anyone else that we know of."

"More than me," Haymitch agrees, making an annoyed face. He doesn't bother to take his feet off the table.

"So, what we'd like is for you to talk to her once she's awake. Help explain to her what's going on. She's gone practically catatonic every time someone's tried." Coin sounds annoyed by this, frustrated that the hero she risked everything to save isn't cooperating.

Well, too bad for her. After everything Katniss has been through, she deserves a little time to be crazy.

But Coin does have a point. Katniss trusts me. And I trust her.

And if she really is losing her mind, I'll just have to help her find it again. Because that's what we do for each other. We make sure that both of us can survive.

"I'll do what I can," I say.

Coin studies me, her dirty-snow eyes examining my injuries. "Go find one of the medics. They'll change your bandages and make sure you've been treated properly. Get your family, explain to the survivors anything I or my medics covered insufficiently. Then go ahead and get yourself some food. We'll send someone to get you from this ship's dining hall in about half an hour. You are dismissed, Soldier Hawthorne."

"I'm not a soldier," is the first thing I can think of to say, and I'm slightly confused as I say it, casting my gaze to Haymitch who has just recently closed his eyes.

"No," Coin agrees. "But you will be." And she walks out of the room, leaving me alone with Haymitch once more.

But I don't stay there for long. I take one look at the scratched man who's practically asleep at the desk and start to stand up, ready to follow orders, my mind racing with all the possibilities this conversation has opened up.

I still can't quite believe it.

There's a legitimate resistance movement against the Capitol and President Snow. And I'm about to be a part of it. So, after years of _nothing_, I'm finally going to be having the chance to do something real to help stop Snow.

And even though it makes no sense considering all of the death I've been surrounded with for the last four days, I've never felt so… alive.

I walk out the door of the room without a word to or from Haymitch. And then I walk out of the hovercraft, dodging medics and other survivors as they load onto the gangway into the vehicle.

I can tell that they're trying to get the most severely injured onto the hovercrafts first, because some of these people have to be carried on, or rolled up the ramp on stretchers. Somehow the number of doctors has multiplied, and now there are dozens of them, roaming the camp and talking to people and fixing wounds. I have to hand it to them- District Thirteen certainly was prepared to come help us.

I start heading away from the hovercraft to find my family when I feel an arm on my shoulder, and I whirl around to see who's trying to grab my attention.

It's a doctor, someone just a few years older than me, with light brown hair, white-clad and carrying a bag that's most likely full of medicines. "Gale Hawthorne?"

"Yeah?" I ask.

"President Coin wanted me to take a look at you. It shouldn't take long," he says, as though he expects me to refuse his assistance.

"All right," I say with a shrug, and he instantly searches in his bag for all sorts of fancy equipment which I will probably never know how to use. He seems to be rifling through his bag as fast as he can, like he's afraid I'm going to dash off at any moment to get away from him. As he changes my bandages and gives me some cream to put on my burns, I start talking to him.

"So, how long have you been with District Thirteen?"

The doctor looks up, slightly surprised at the question, but then drops his eyes back to my arm, which he's checking for broken bones. "I was born there," he answers simply, now pressing lightly on the bones near my wrist. "My parents were from District Nine, though. They ran away right after they got married. Does that hurt?"

I flinch. "Yeah." It's all I can do not to run away from the touch.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and then says, "It's broken. Most likely just a hairline fracture but it's going to take some time to set. Back in Thirteen we have some medicines that will speed along the process, but for now you're going to have to keep it in the sling."

I nod my understanding, and then say, "How do you like it?"

"What, Thirteen?" When I confirm that that's what I meant, he shrugs. "Better than anywhere else, that's for sure. Food, clothes, a job- plus I don't have to worry about the Games or the Capitol interfering whenever they feel like it. How did you like Twelve?" he returns. I can tell that he didn't mean it rudely, but more out of curiosity.

I shrug, and think of all the times I wanted to be rid of the place. "It was a home," I say simply. "Not much of one, but still mine."

The doctor nods and finishes pinning on a new bandage around my ribs where Lucien hit me with his gun. "Then I'm sorry for your loss."

"It wasn't your fault, but I appreciate it." Some other medics rush by with a little kid laid out on a stretcher. Her face is badly burnt- worse than mine by a lot- and she's breathing shallowly. Mrs. Everdeen is at their side, talking quickly as they load her onto the hovercraft. I can only hear a few of her words, but from what I can hear, it sounds like she's telling the doctors what she's already given the girl to keep her alive this long. I'm looking around and I catch sight of the older man with the gun, talking to some of the ex-miners, looking serious.

As the doctor keeps working on my various injuries, I say, "So what's with Coin's watchdog?"

The doctor looks up, momentarily confused. When his gaze moves to the man I'm staring at, he lets out a surprised laugh. "Oh, him? That's Alexander Boggs. He's the President's right-hand man."

I whistle. "A lot of important people came to pick us up."

The doctor nods his agreement. "I don't know the specifics, but yeah. They decided it was an important situation, I guess. I mean…" he trails off, and looks at the ground, a little embarrassed.

"What is it?" I ask.

He laughs again. "I'm sorry, it's just… it's sort of surreal to be talking to you. I mean, you know the Mockingjay!" His voice gets slightly hushed, and then he lets out a sheepish laugh. "Sorry. I just-"

"Nah, it's okay," I say, and it's the truth. I got over being recognized for knowing Katniss a long time ago. The only weird thing is that she's being hero-worshipped now, and not openly despised.

"What- what's she like?"

I look at this doctor's face, and then smile a little. "She's brave, and brilliant, and beautiful… Honestly, she's every bit as wonderful as she seems. Only better."

The doctor's smiling too now. "I wish I could meet her."

I don't say anything back right away, instead thinking about where Katniss is right now and what sort of state she's in. "Practically catatonic," that's what Coin said. She's had… some sort of mental breakdown, or something.

But at least she's alive.

"Maybe one day, you can," I tell him at long last.

We don't say much more for about a minute, although it's obvious both of us are thinking about what's just been said. The doctor who's helping me finishes stuffing his supplies back into his bag, and then he straightens up. "All right, I think we're done here. When we get back to the District, we'll try to get you something more. But for now all I can say is try not to move around. At all."

I let out a laugh at that bit of advice, and the doctor grudgingly allows himself a smile. "Okay, try not to move around as much. I just don't want to have to reset any bones."

"Yes sir," I say, snapping a fake salute with my right hand and grinning at him. "Thanks again, uh-" I stumble for his name.

"Harry," he says with a grin, offering a blue-gloved hand to me to shake. "Harry Cade." We grasp hands for a moment, and then he grins again. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around the District. It's not a very big place. Besides, you seem to get injured a lot, so I'm sure you'll wind up in my infirmary eventually. How do you get a broken hand and bruised ribs in a fire, anyway?"

"It's a long story," I sigh.

Harry laughs. "Well, maybe one day I'll get you to tell it to me." He talks a breath and then starts talking again. "Anyway, it was-"

"Cade!" Both Harry and I turn to locate the voice. It's a female doctor with an old man leaning against her, limping our way. "Do you have any low-dose morphling in your bag? All of my pain relievers have already been used up."

"Yeah, I've got some," he calls back. "Dosage?"

"Twenty milligrams?" the second doctor suggests, and Harry turns back to me.

"Look, it was great meeting you. I'll- I'll see you around, all right?"

"Sure thing," I say, and Harry dashes off, opening his bag as he goes.

And now to find my family, and Prim if I can.

It doesn't take very long for me to figure out where they are, because from where I'm standing, I can see my mother helping Delly Cartwright and the three children with her onto the hovercraft. Vick's holding Posy's hand next to them and Rory is- predictably- nowhere to be found.

"Mom," I call, making my way to her. She and everyone with her stop and look up, their eyes finding me.

"How'd your talk go?" My mother asks, the little girl I days ago- Tessa, I think it was- squirming in her arms.

"Haymitch's socks look terrible again," I say, which makes me Mom let out a small laugh while Delly smiles. "Hi, Delly," I add.

"Hey, Gale." She's holding her real little brother's hand on one side and the other little boy's hand on the other. The sight reminds me of my own siblings.

I head over to Vick and Posy, kissing Posy's forehead and rubbing at Vick's hair with the knuckles of my right hand. "Hey, kid. How are things?"

"The doctor says they have food on board," Vick answers excitedly. "Real food. Good stuff, for everybody!" His eyes are wide. "And we're all going to have a new home in District Thirteen!"

I nod. "That sounds about right, from what Haymitch told me."

"He was sober enough to say anything helpful at all?" My mom asks dryly, and I let out a half-hearted laugh.

"Well, yeah. Apparently they don't let anyone here have alcohol. Haymitch obviously isn't doing very well with that little regulation."

"Well, _someone_ needed to break him of the habit," my mom sniffs, although she can't quite hide the sorrow in her eyes. She feels bad for him. She's worked for him, and seen how he lives, and she pities him. I don't know how I feel about that. Before I can say something about Haymitch which I will probably regret, my mom keeps talking. "And have you heard anything about Katniss?"

I pause, considering my answer. "I haven't seen her yet. Apparently she's having some sort of… of breakdown, or something."

My mom sighs, shaking her head, and Delly pulls in a quick gasp.

"That's terrible!"

"Yeah, I know," I answer. "I don't know how bad it is, exactly, but judging by the way Coin was talking to me… she's not doing well at all." Not that I blame her for that. "You all know where Prim and Rory are, right?"

"Prim's helping out Thirteen's medics with her mom," My mother answers. "Rory is with her. Mostly he's just handing them supplies, but at least it's something.

"All right," I say, after a pause. "So, the first hovercraft is going to leave in about ten minutes, from what I can tell, and I've got to be on it. I'm supposed to explain what's going on to Katniss- apparently she's not responding to conversation very well at the moment. So I'll talk to her, and then I'll find you guys on the ship-" I break off at my mom's stricken expression, and then frown, puzzled. "..You all _are_ going on the first hovercraft, right?"

"Not exactly," My mom says, frowning. "I figured Moore could probably use my help more down here, still organizing everybody else. The kids and I are going to go on the last one, probably. But if you're needed on the first, then-"

"No, no, it's okay," I say quickly. "I'll be fine on my own, then. I'll just get to District Thirteen first and figure out what's going on so that when _you_ all get there, we can have a plan already made."

My mom finally nods, although she doesn't seem too pleased with the solution. "If you're sure that's the best thing to do." She inhales deeply. "Well, I don't know how long it will be until we see you. In any case, I love you," she says, and she kisses my forehead. "Stay safe."

I smile, say my goodbyes, and then dash off, so I'm inside the hovercraft when it takes off. Delly and the kids with her are some of the last people to get on the ship.

I know Coin told me to get some food, but I'm really not hungry just now. I know I should be starving, and in all honestly maybe I am, but right now it's Katniss I care about so much more than anything else. Certainly more than my rumbling stomach, which I learned to entirely ignore long ago.

I go to the dining hall anyway, where I was told to, but I'm not there long before the ship's lifted off and the view out of the windows is one of the tops of trees rather than the bottoms. I have to take in a quick breath because it's so strange- I'm flying. I'm leaving District Twelve forever. I'm _flying._

The whole experience is so surreal. A few people- survivors- come and try to talk to me, but I'm not really focused on the conversation and I honestly don't remember what it is I say. All I know is each minute I'm not spending with Katniss is a minute where I'm sitting, twitching in my chair with nervous energy as refugees move and shuffle around me, moaning in pain or whispering to each other in excitement.

I don't get anything to eat, which maybe I'll regret later. But when enough time has passed that I can no longer see the lake from out the window, someone comes up to me.

"Gale Hawthorne?" My head snaps towards the voice, finally breaking away from the window, and I see an older female doctor standing in front of me. Instantly I'm on my feet, ignoring the wrenching pain in my sides as I stand up.

"Can I see her now?" My words rush out in a blur, but the doctor seems to understand.

"I'm going to take you there. I… I don't know how awake she'll be. And she'll look bad- we don't have a prep team like the Capitol does to make the damage seem less severe," she warns, her voice twisting the words with an anger that I am all too familiar with.

"I don't care," I say. "Just take me there."

The doctor nods, and we're off.

We make our way past injured people and children and families huddled together, none of them making any particularly loud noises. I think they're all afraid that if they do anything too quickly or loudly, they'll wake up and realize this whole week has been a dream. That we're all going to wake up in our beds in District Twelve, with only the Games and the mines to look forward to. I understand, because I feel the same way.

But I'm going to see Katniss. I'm going to see Katniss now, and even if that's just a dream it's something I'd prefer to being awake any day.

Finally the doctor stops outside of a door, and turns and looks at me. "Are you sure you want to do this? I understand-"

"Look, I'm positive," I say, and I'm having a really hard time keeping the frustration out of my voice. "Can you please just open the door?"

Finally the lady sighs and shrugs, and pushes the door in for me.

I walk inside.

The room is large and curved, just like everything else on this ship. The ceilings are dreadfully low and the whole place is flooded with a silvery artificial sort of light. But my eyes go straight to one thing, near one of the far walls.

It's a bed. More accurately, it's a padded metal platform, surrounded by beeping medical equipment and tubes of dripping liquids, and the whole setting in general makes me think of death and pain and sorrow.

And that's when I see the girl, asleep- or pretending to be asleep, anyway- on the bed.

Katniss.

She looks so, so tired. Her long hair is jagged in places and frizzy and soaked with blood near her skull, and falling into her eyes, and she looks pale and thin and _sick_. I step closer to her, studying her for a long moment, just standing there with my arm in its sling, staring. I'm at her side and I barely even recognize her.

Beyond that, her arm has a long line of stitches travelling up it, zigzagging across her flesh and cinching her together like some sort of perverted rag doll. I grit my teeth, breathing deeply.

This is not right. Katniss- who, for the record, is only _seventeen_- shouldn't look like this. Not ever.

She doesn't open her eyes, but I stay by her side, wanting to just reach out and grab her hand, until she does.

The grey eyes flicker open.

I don't even know what to say, but that's okay, because she speaks first.

"Gale." Her voice is a ragged whisper, hoarse, lost, missing, torn, and it's so wonderful to hear it at all that I have to swallow back some emotion as I lean down to push a strand of her hair off of her face and onto the pillow behind her.

"Hey, Catnip," I answer. I can see her grey eyes- so like my own- drinking in the sight of me, everything, registering confusion at the burns on my face and the sling on my arm and the bandages peeking out through my filthy miner's shirt. A moment passes while Katniss seems to be trying to get her thoughts into order, and then the most important of them pushes its way past her lips.

"Prim?" It's a gasp, desperate, hungry for some good news but so positive she'll get bad news instead.

This, at least, is good. I can tell her what she wants to hear. "She's alive. So is your mother, I got them out in time."

_Fires in the distance, up close, body parts discarded on the ground like pieces of forgotten paper to be tossed away._

Katniss saves me from the memory. "They're not in District Twelve?" Her voice sounds so confused. So lost.

I try to think of the simplest way to explain, because I can see in her face that she isn't fully here. I mean, she's still Katniss, but she's only halfway present, like half of her mind was left back in the arena. Like half of her mind is traveling with Peeta, wherever he is. Whatever's happening to him.

"After the Games, they sent in planes. Dropped firebombs." I can't quite think of words to describe the result. I don't know that there _are_ words that could do it accurately at all. Even the images in my head can't compare to the actual memory. "Well, you know what happened to the Hob."

Her eyes sort of zone out, like she's trying to get them to focus on something that isn't there. When she speaks again, her repetition isn't quiet, it's just _small_. Like she's trying to hide behind her own words, to throw them up as some sort of protection against the truth.

"They're not in District Twelve?"

I don't know how else to explain it. And I think, I think that inside, Katniss _knows_ the truth. That there's just no way the Capitol would have let District Thirteen get away with what they did without some payback of some kind.

"Katniss," I say softly.

As soon as I say her name, I want to take it back because I know she'll recognize the tone. It's the same one I use when I'm hunting and I don't manage to kill something right away. This is the tone that only ever comes before the deathblow. And of course Katniss, my hunting partner for years, recognizes it.

She flinches against whatever news it is I might be bringing, raising one arm up in front of her face as though she can fend off my message with physical force. I reach out my good arm and catch hers in mine, pulling it down gently and holding on tightly.

But Katniss is shaking her head, trying to get herself away from me so she can't hear the news that has been left to _me_ to give her. That was left to me because she trusts me. Because I trust her. Because the only person she'll listen to right now is me.

"Don't," she whispers, and her voice cracks on the word, and my heart breaks with it.

But she has to know the truth, and if I don't tell her now, no one will ever be able to.

"Katniss," I say slowly, trying to make my words obey me, but I don't think she hears it. And looking at her, I'm once again overwhelmed with a burning sense that I am completely guilty in this. Guilty because I couldn't save her from the Games either time, guilty because I couldn't keep more people alive back in Twelve, guilty because of what I did to Lucien, and most of all, guilty because I have to deliver this terrible, terrible news and that it has to be true.

"Katniss," I try again, not looking away from her eyes, "There is no District Twelve."


End file.
